


Summer Of War

by TheProperLexicon



Series: Narnian Warriors of London [2]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 18:15:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheProperLexicon/pseuds/TheProperLexicon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is one summer that changes your life. For Susan it is the summer of 1944. When Caspian's name appears on the list of soldiers gone missing in Normandy, Susan's life is turned upside down. Will she survive the summer or become a casualty of war?</p><p>AU/Movieverse</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Newspaper in the Underground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a newspaper attacks Susan.

Rain fell down in curtains as she ran across the sidewalk, slapping the soles of her Wellingtons against the soaked stones. Her braids bounced on her shoulders, weighed down by the buckets of water that they contained. She wore a raincoat but it did little to keep the water out at the speed that she was running. She bounced off of a curb and landed in a huge puddle of water, splashing cold water all over her legs and into her Wellingtons; she did not slow. She dodged a group of business men, all rushing to wherever they were headed with their dark umbrellas drawn against the rain.

Summer in London had been heralded, as usual, by buckets of rain pouring down upon them. Normally Lucy Pevensie was a sensible girl that always buttoned her raincoat and made sure to grab her hat and umbrella before leaving the house. However, today had not been a day for dawdling about in search of an umbrella. She had barely had time to throw on her raincoat before she was out the door and speeding down the street.

She dashed out into the street without looking and heard the blare of a car horn. The driver yelled something out of a crack in the window as Lucy leapt out of the way and turned to run the opposite direction on the other side of the street. She sharply turned the corner and vaulted up the steps that led to the makeshift hospital. She barged through the door without bothering with a bell and waved hello to the shocked entry nurse.

“She’s on the third floor, Miss Pevensie, but she is with a patient!” the nurse called as Lucy bolted up the steps, taking them two at a time. “I beg you, wait until she is finished!” Lucy ignored the pleading cry and pushed past a set of nurses chatting on the landing.

One of the nurses laughed and called out, “Room three-oh-two, Lucy!” Lucy did not even pause to offer a wave to the nurse; she merely nodded once and vanished around the next landing.

By the time the third landing came into view, Lucy was having difficulty breathing. The door directly in front of her opened and out stepped a tall girl with long dark hair and piercing blue eyes. She wore a white dress and a small white wedge hat. She carried a tray covered with a white towel and had a bag in her hand. Lucy collapsed with her knees on the second stair down and sighed.

“Susan,” she gasped. Her sister turned to take her in, startled.

“What are you doing here, Lucy?” Susan demanded, coming over and helping her from the floor. “Are you all right? The boys, are they all right? Mother and Father?”

“Yes, yes,” Lucy snapped, reaching into her raincoat. “We’re all fine. This just came.” From her raincoat she produced a cream colored envelope stained with mud or worse.

Almost instantly, Susan’s hands started shaking and she almost dropped the tray she was holding. “Oh,” she whispered, staring at the envelope in Lucy’s hand. She dropped the bag to the floor and used her other hand to steady the tray. Leaning over the banister, Susan called, “Patricia! Would mind taking this tray to Dr. Wheeler?” The girl that had shouted out to Lucy appeared on the steps.

“Not at all,” Patricia answered, eyeing the envelope in Lucy’s hand. “Room three-oh-two, right?” Susan nodded, her eyes still on the envelope. As she handed the tray to Patricia it shook a bit. “Why don’t you take a break; I’ll cover for you.”

Susan nodded again and gestured for Lucy to follow her. She passed Patricia and headed back down the stairs. With a sigh, Lucy followed taking deep, slow breaths.

The two of them trudged down the steps until they reached the ground level. The entry way nurse stood behind her desk and watched them evenly. “Nancy, I’m going to take a break,” Susan said. Nancy glanced to Lucy and noticed the envelope. She nodded and gestured to the small sitting room through a door marked _Staff Only_.

Susan tugged Lucy through the door and crossed the kitchen floor to the stove where a kettle of tea was waiting. “Do you want tea?” Susan asked, her back to Lucy.

“No,” Lucy answered, watching her sister. “Aren’t you going to read it?”

Susan busied herself with making a cup of tea and adding two sugar cubes. She stirred it slowly before lifting the saucer and carrying it over to the table. Lucy was still standing in the doorway, watching Susan carefully ignore the envelope. Finally as Lucy took a step closer, Susan sipped at her tea and said, “Who brought it?”

Realization flooded over Lucy. It had been months since the last letter, two almost to the day. The state of this letter did not seem promising, stained and battered as though it had lived through its own personal battle. “The postman,” she answered. “It came with all the other post. Just like all of the other times.”

The elder girl took another sip of her tea and her gaze darted to Lucy. She was weighing the truth in Lucy’s statement. Finally she reached out a hand and waited as Lucy dropped the envelope into her palm. She tore at the seal and pulls the paper from its sheath. It unfurled to reveal the familiar scrawl of his hand. She devoured it, reading his words as if they spilled from his lips instead of the paper. Each punctuation mark is a stab of the pen. She could tell when he is writing quickly by the upcurl of his letters, and how the periods began to have tails from where he was too rushed to lift the pen completely. Her eyes flew over the words, scanning them for any of her warning signs. She flipped through the pages, holding her breath until she could hardly stand it.

The final page is finished and with a flourish his name was scrawled at the bottom. Susan set the letter down on the table and sighed with relief. Lucy sighed too and sank into the chair next to Susan. “He’s all right, then?” Lucy asked, reaching over to place her hand over Susan’s. Susan nods, tears in her eyes. “Thank God,” Lucy answered, her eyes drifting to the sky. “Where is he?”

“Still in France, but he has been promoted and moved to a new corps. He’s been made a warrant officer of the thirtieth corps.  They ship out in a few days,” Susan replied, going back to the first page and actually reading at a normal pace.

Lucy nodded, squeezing lightly on Susan’s hand. “That’s probably good news, right? He was promoted and now he’s being shipped out. That means we’re one step closer to getting him back.” Susan nodded, taking another sip of her tea. Lucy glanced out the window and noticed that the rain had stopped and the sun had come out. “Oh, there’s a lull in the rainstorm. I should get home before Mother notices that my hat and umbrella are still in the mudroom.”

For the first time since Lucy had arrived Susan turned to really look at her. “Lucy!” she exclaimed, “I cannot believe you left home without your umbrella on a day like today! You’re mad!” She pushed herself away from the table and went to the wall near the door where her raincoat and hat hung on a hook. She donned them both and snatched up her umbrella. Crossing back she carefully folded the letter and placed it in the pocket of her raincoat. “Come on,” Susan said, gesturing to Lucy. “I’ll walk you home.”

“Why?” Lucy asked, eyeing Susan. “I know how to get there.”

With an eyeroll, Susan took Lucy by the arm and led her out into the entry. “Nancy,” she said. “I’m off for the day. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, all right, Susan,” Nancy replied, scrawling down Susan’s time on a paper. “See you tomorrow.”

Susan nodded and opened the door for Lucy.. The two girls stepped out into the overcast London streets and Lucy jumped down the stairs and ran out onto the sidewalk. “Lucy!” Susan called, slowly and safely making her way down the stone steps.. “Watch where you’re going!”

The younger girl threw a glance over her shoulder and darted back around Susan, stomping in a puddle along the way. Muddy water splashed up and soaked Susan’s white stockings, covering her white shoes and staining the hem of her dress. Lucy froze in her spot and stared down at Susan’s feet. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “I’m so sorry, Sue!”

The elder girl stood stock still, staring down at her mud covered feet. Neither one of them moved for a long moment until Susan tilted her head up to stare at Lucy. Finally, Susan reached down and brushed at the mud stained stockings in an attempt to clean them slightly. She glanced back at Lucy and started to laugh. It was a high pitched laugh that rained down on them as they stood in the middle of the sidewalk with people staring at them as they walked past. “Sue?” Lucy questioned softly, reaching out at tentative hand in her sister’s direction. “Are you all right?”

Suddenly Susan’s foot stomped in the puddle that Lucy was standing in and splashed dirty water all over the younger girl’s stockings and skirt hem. Lucy shrieked happily, drawing looks from passers-by. Susan grabbed Lucy’s hand and darted away from the front of the hospital, pulling her sister along with her..

The two girls ran through the streets, spraying water in every direction. Laughter rang out loudly, bouncing back from cold, empty walls. Finally they reached the corner of their street and slowed to a walk. They were still giggling as they reached the steps and Susan turned back to help Lucy maneuver up the rain soaked stairs.

As they reached for the knob the door swung open to reveal Helen Pevensie standing in the doorway. “Where have you two been?” she demanded, “Just look at your stockings! Lucy, you are soaked to the skin! You’ll catch pneumonia.” She stepped aside so that the girls could step into the mudroom. “Really Susan, what has gotten into you?” Helen asked, taking her coat.

Susan reached into the inner pocket of the raincoat and withdrew the letter. “Look, Mother!” she exclaimed, waving it wildly before her face. “He’s alive!”

Helen’s eyes lit up and she threw her arms around Susan. “Oh, darling, that’s wonderful!” she exclaimed as Lucy perched herself on the bench to remove her mud-crusted boots. Helen turned to Lucy and smiled, “So this is why you went running off when the post arrived.” Lucy nodded. “Well, this time I will let it slide, but if you ever go running off without your raincoat again I promise you that you will regret it.”

“Yes, Mother,” Lucy replied obediently, nodding and stripping off her mud covered stockings. “I should go change into dry clothes” With that, Lucy rose to her feet and dashed through the door and up the stairs.

Helen Pevensie turned to Susan and gestured to the fireplace in the sitting room. "Well," she said as the two of them stepped into the circle of warmth that filled the room. "What does he say?" she continued.

The younger woman withdrew the letter from the envelope and unfolded it. Her eyes darted to the top of the page and she scanned the first line quickly. "He's been promoted to warrant officer and moved to the thirtieth corps. Do you think that Father would know anything about them?" Susan asked, glancing to her mother.

"We'll ask when he gets home next week," Helen answered with a nod. "A promotion, hmm? He must be doing exceptionally well." Susan nodded and dropped her eyes back to the paper. "What other news?"

Susan shrugged, her eyes drifting over the paper. They came to rest at the top of the sheet and her heart sank into her chest. "Oh, Mother!" she exclaimed. "This letter is from months ago! May 18th! Who knows where he is now!"

An arm dropped around Susan's shoulders and Helen pulled her closer. "Well, we know his company; surely we can find out where they are stationed. We will be sure to ask your father when he comes back," her mother offered, moving across the room. "Now, go and change out of those wet clothes, before you catch your death."

With a nod, Susan folded the letter and pushed it back into the envelope. She took the stairs quickly and moved down the hallway toward her bedroom. The door to her right pulled open and Peter stuck his head out. "Oh," he said, "Sue. Any word from Caspian?" She nodded and waved the envelope. "Good, good. I was wondering if you might want to head out to the park with me tonight. A few friends invited us to the picture shows."

Susan tilted her head to regard her brother soundly; Peter never chose to go out to the park with people. He prefered solitude even more than Susan did and spent his time at school locked in the library or out on the fields. "I suppose," she agreed. "But not too late, I have to be at work early tomorrow."

"Yes, all right," Peter said quickly, his voice soft. "I do too." Susan nodded once and continued down the hallway to her bedroom. Stepping within she flipped on the lamp and began to remove her shoes and stockings. Halfway through the removal of her second stocking she paused and took up the letter again. Withdrawing it from the envelope she reveled in the whisper of paper against paper. Alone she could focus on exactly what was written and hear his words as though he was speaking.

It was not often that a letter called to her, but this one had been so long in coming that she could barely stand letting it out of her sight. It had been two months since she had recieved any correspondence and the Commodore had gone to post shortly after so she had no chance to find out word on Caspian. The newspapers had been unhelpful, spouting nothing but news of victories and oppotunities of advancement for the army.. The only hope that Susan held on to was the letters and they were arriving sporatically and too far between to be reliable.

She opened the paper again and lingered on the opening paragraph.

_My Queen,_

_Today it is overcast and warm. My company members are complaining of ailments the likes of which I have never seen but I have managed to come through these past weeks with nary a sniffle or ache. I know that it has been a long time since I last wrote to you, but it has been a rough couple of weeks here and I have been unable to produce any single train of thought. These days all I can think is of your face and the light in your eyes as you laugh. I lay on my cot, staring up at the stars and think only of your smile. These are the thoughts that ramble through my mind and I cannot help but drift away. Even now, as I write this I find myself staring into space and dreaming of the day that return to you._

For a moment Susan paused in her reading to stare at the letter itself. It was a plain white paper, crinkled slightly as though it had once been stuffed in a pocket for a brief time and then creased hard to give it shape. It was stained dark brown at one corner and she briefly thought of what it might be before pushing it from her mind. He would not have posted it if he had bled on it, at least she liked to think he would not.

She put the letter down and continued to remove her stocking, watching the paper out of the corner of her eye as though it would vanish if she looked away. She dropped her filthy stocking in the bin and began to unbutton her dress. At her father's suggestion she had gotten a summer job in hopes that it would keep her from pining away from day to day. Working as a nurse had been her mother's idea and it was probably the reason she spent so much time worrying.

The patients that they received at the small hospital were not often soldiers. They were overflow patients from St. Bartholomew's Hospital that were often moved because of swells in the soldier arrival. They came into the off-shoot hospital with tales from soldiers that had been shot, lost limbs and worse in battle. Each tale created a swell of fear deep in her stomach and radiate out into her limbs. At night she would dream that Caspian had arrived at Bart's and some patient told her a tale of a soldier that came in, wounded beyond recognition and he just kept saying her name over and over in his tortured sleep. On those mornings she would wake up in a cold sweat and cry until she was out of tears.

A knock sounded at her door and she looked down to her water stained camisole and slip. She had been daydreaming again and silently berated herself as she donned her robe and crossed to the door. Peter stood outside wearing slacks and a light green sweater vest over a lightly lined shirt. "The film starts at sundown, Sue," he said, glancing at her robe.

With a sigh, Susan nodded. "Yes, all right. Let me change. But if I catch pneumonia you're bringing me soup in bed." Peter grinned brightly and nodded before stepping away from the door. "I'll meet you downstairs in a few minutes," Susan added as she closed the door.

Alone again she shed her robe and climbed from her water stained slip and camisole. She located a second pair and stepped in. In the bottom of her wardrobe she found a pair of light wool stockings and pulled them on. It may be a warm summer eve but her feet were chilled from running through the water and she would not risk a cold now. She pulled out a light blue colored dress that her mother had recycled from one of her old play dresses and buttoned it up. She quickly brushed her hair free of tangles and set it back from her face in a low ponytail. With that she stepped into her shoes and ran out the door.

Halfway down the hall she spun back and dashed back to the bedroom. Lying on the comforter was the letter, open and glaring at the ceiling. She quickly pushed it back into the envelope and gently stowed it in a wooden box beside her bed. With a backward glance at the box, she made her way back down the hall to the staircase.

Peter waited by the door, wearing his coat and holding Susan’s. She shrugged into it and turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Does Mother know that we are leaving?” she asked. He nodded and opened the door to the mudroom. “What film is playing?” she asked, stepping in.

“Does it really matter?” he asked, stepping past her and opening the outer door. She shook her head as she stepped around him and into the pre-twilit street. The maneuvered down the stairs in silence and then turned and padded up the street. Susan wrapped her coat tighter around her and stepped closer to Peter in an attempt to block the wind that was whistling down the sidewalk.

They reached the corner before the rain started to pour down on them. With a sigh, Susan grabbed Peter’s hand and pulled him into a run. They stomped through the rain slicked sidewalks for the three blocks before reaching the Underground tunnels. On the way down the steps, Susan hit the step wrong and slipped. To keep her from tumbling down the stairs, Peter reached out to grab her and wrapped his hand around her arm and pulled.

“Thanks,” she said, finding her footing.

They moved further down the stairs to the platform. “Watch your step, Sue. Tread wrong and you’ll fall.”

Susan swiveled her head to take in her brother and stopped short. “What does that mean?” she snapped angrily.

Peter arched an eyebrow as he came to an abrupt halt and stared at her. “It means the stairs are wet,” he replied with a questioning tone. “Why?” With a shake of her head, Susan passed him and continued down the steps to the platform. “Susan,” he pressed, following her. “What is going on?”

“Nothing,” she replied, stepping onto the well lit platform. “I’m just tired.” She stepped closer to the edge of the platform as a train pulled in to the station. A newspaper blew from one man’s hands and slapped against Susan’s leg. She reached down and peeled it from her stocking to hand it back to the man. As she folded it in half the headline caught her eye.

_Allied Troops Lose Ground; Thousands Missing_

“Peter,” she whispered, her hands shaking. “I think I’m going to be sick.” Peter stepped up beside her just as her knees buckled and her world went black.

 

 


	2. The Man in 204

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Susan makes a new friend and gets some rather bad news.

Sunlight blazed behind the blackout curtains as she opened her eyes. She was buried beneath her comforter and three pillows, watching the curtains flutter. She groaned and rolled over. Seated on the edge of the bed was Lucy, staring at her. “Ugh, what happened, Lu?” she muttered, placing her hand over her face.

Lucy reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Susan’s face as she responded so softly that Susan almost did not hear. “You fainted in the Underground station,” she said. Susan groaned again and buried her face further into the bed. “Peter says that it was a newspaper that did you in,” she continued. Susan nodded weakly, splaying hair everywhere. “Unfortunately he left it at that because when you fainted you dropped the paper and the train took it,” Lucy continued.

Susan rolled back over, peeling a pillow back from her face. “How long have I been asleep?” she asked, intentionally ignoring the unspoken question.

“It’s about four in the evening. You’ve been up here for almost a whole day,” she added. “I went to the hospital to let them know that you wouldn’t be in today. They seemed rather busy.” Susan nodded while placing her face back in the pillow. “Can I help you at all?” Lucy asked, brushing a light hand over Susan’s shoulder.

The elder girl shook her head sadly, feeling her hair stick to her face. “Could I have a bath?” Susan asked, opening one eye. Lucy nodded. “And perhaps some of Mother’s sherry?” Lucy’s eyes widened in surprise at the question that Susan posed. “Please, Lu,” Susan added.

“I’ll ask,” Lucy replied. She rose from the bed and exited out the door. Just outside she heard Lucy speaking. “She’s awake. Whatever happened to her, she’s not talking.” The door clicked shut and all Susan could hear were muffled voices speaking. She rolled over on her side and stared at the wardrobe at the foot of the bed.

Only a few moments passed before the door reopened and Lucy stepped in, holding a short glass. “This is all she would give me,” she said, offering the finger depth of sherry. “She says that if you want more then you’ll have to tell her why.”

“This is fine,” Susan replied, taking the glass from her hand and knocking the contents back into her throat. It burned all the way down her throat and into her stomach. Lucy watched solemnly, holding back any comments that she may have had. “Thank you, Lucy,” she said, rising to her feet and grabbing her robe.

Lucy followed her out into the hallway and down to the washroom silently. She stood in the door and watched as Susan reached into the bathwater that had been running since Lucy turned it on. “Is it warm enough?” Lucy queried. Susan nodded once, but did not speak. The younger girl waited as Susan ran a brush through her long brown hair and stared at herself in the mirror.

“In or out, Lu,” Susan said, reaching down to untie her robe. Lucy stepped in and closed the door behind her as Susan dropped the robe on the floor and slid herself into the steaming water. She sighed softly as the water encased her, sloshing up around her sides. “You said that the hospital was busy, what did you mean?” Susan asked, reaching for the soap.

Lucy sat down on the toilet and leaned back to look at Susan. “Well, Nancy was rather flustered, and with all the comings and goings from upstairs I would think that they had someone rather injured in one of the rooms upstairs.” Susan slid down under the water and soaked her hair before lathering it with the bar of soap. “Please, Susan. What happened last night?”

Susan pulled her long brown hair over her shoulder and stared at the soapy lengths before looking back at Lucy. “I really don’t want to talk about,” she answered, sliding down to rinse her hair. Lucy sat in silence, staring out the tiny, curtained window at the gray skies. Susan scrubbed and buffed as Lucy stayed very still. Finally, the older sister spoke again. “Thank you, Lucy,” she whispered.

Blue eyes darted to Susan as Lucy refocused on her. “For what?” she asked.

“For not pushing.”

“You’ll talk about it when you’re ready,” Lucy replied, handing Susan a towel as she stood up. “Are you going into the hospital?” Lucy asked as Susan picked up her robe. She nodded. “Do you suppose Mother would let me go with you?”

The elder girl glanced over at her and studied her for a long moment. “I’ll only be there for an hour or so, I don’t see why not.” Lucy beamed at her as Susan stepped back into the hallway. “I’ll meet you downstairs in a few minutes,” Susan added, heading down the hall to her bedroom.

Alone once again, she sank into the chair at the far end of her bedroom. If she closed her eyes long enough she could still feel Caspian in this chair, where he had slept that night that he had appeared in the room. This was the first time that she had been able to process what she had read the night before in the train station. The image on the front page had been enough to shake her; the grainy black and white photograph depicted a landing craft sinking amidst a dark sea. The headline had caused her heart to drop, with just the idea that there was such a mass loss. She had feared for Caspian since he had gotten on the train, but the night before in the Underground tunnel was the first time that she thought he might never return. She had seen him in battle before, nearly dying, always escaping. Last night had changed that feeling in a single moment.

She rose to her feet and pulled out a white uniform. Within a few moments, she was dressed in her uniform, white tights and her white shoes. When she stepped from her room Peter was just stepping from his. “Hey,” he said, pulling his door closed. “Are you going into work? It’s late.”

Susan fell into step with him as they approached the stairs. “Yes,” she agreed, “But Lucy said that they were quite busy when she stopped by. I want to make sure that everything is all right.” Peter let her step in front of him as they reached the staircase. “Thank you for getting me home last night,” she added. He nodded once, watching her. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“You did,” he replied as they stepped off the bottom stair. “But I knew you were all right, you’ve seen much worse than a nasty old newspaper.” He offered her a smile and she returned it, briefly squeezing his hand.

Helen Pevensie stepped from the dining room, a dish towel in her hands. “I thought I heard voices; what are you up to?” she asked, eyeing Susan carefully.

The girl avoided her mother’s careful stare as she answered, “I am going to head into the hospital for a bit, see how they are getting on. I was thinking of taking Lucy with me.” Blue eyes finally met her mother’s brown eyes. “Would that be all right, Mother?”

“I’m not sure that would be the best idea, love,” Helen responded. “It’s not really the best place for someone of Lucy’s age.”

Refraining from rolling her eyes, Susan glanced to Peter. Both of them knew that Lucy was capable of dealing with the wounded and dead; even capable of healing them. “On the contrary, Mother,” Susan offered. “I believe it might do Lucy good to get out of here and lend a helping hand. Besides, I truly believe that she can handle anything the hospital can show her.” Peter nodded his silent agreement, dropping a strong hand on his mother’s arm.

“You really think so?” Helen asked timidly, watching the two of them. They both nodded. “I suppose you know her the best, after all, you’ve been with her much this past year.”

Peter’s voice broke in with a chuckle. “A year? It’s seemed far longer than that.” Susan eyed him warily but he did not press the joke any further.

“Out of the way!” Edmund bellowed from the top of the stairs. The three below him scattered as he practically leapt from the landing and dashed for the door. Grabbing his coat and Wellies, he spun back and took in the sight of Susan in her uniform. “You clean up fast. You almost wouldn’t know you’ve been wasting away in bed for the last day or so!” Susan crossed her arms as he pulled on his cap. “Well, I best toddle off. Give my regards to the fighting lads!” With those final words he was out the door without even an extra glance over his shoulder.

They stood for an extra moment of silence, listening as the house seemed to adjust to the loss of Edmund before Helen spoke again. “All right, take Lucy. But take care that she doesn’t see some poor man’s insides quite yet. I’d like to know that she has at least not experienced that yet.”

Peter caught himself in another joke and bit his tongue to keep from blurting it out. When Helen had vanished again, he leaned over to Susan and whispered, “If she ever finds out that Lucy has been in battle, she’ll skin us both alive.”

“And filet us,” Susan whispered in return. Peter nodded once. “Where are you off to, Pete?” she asked, finally taking in his pressed shirt and cardigan.

“Your fainting spell canceled my plans for last night, so I’m going to make up for it.”

Susan blushed brightly, averting her eyes. “I really am sorry,” she whispered, turning her face away. “I just…” She trailed off, unable to explain the feeling of hopelessness that overcame her when she had seen the newspaper. Here she was, in dreary London, waiting for a man that may never return. The hopelessness welled back up.

“No need, Sue,” Peter offered, dropping an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll always be there, you know that.” Susan nodded, leaning into his embrace a little more.

Footsteps on the stairs pulled them apart and when Susan looked up she found Lucy watching them from the landing. “What did Mother say?” she asked. She was wearing a black pleated skirt and a gray cardigan over a white blouse. Her hair was pulled back in twin pigtails and she was wearing her black leather shoes. “Did she agree to let me go with you?”

“She agreed,” Susan replied with a half-smile. “But you’re not allowed to assist in any surgeries.” Lucy clambered down the steps to stand beside her. “Do you think you can handle that?” Susan asked jokingly.

The younger girl shrugged. “It will be hard work, but I will try to stay out of the operating room.”

“That’s all I can ask, isn’t it?” Susan laughed, reaching for her coat. The three of them pulled on their light summer coats and Wellingtons. “Don’t forget your hat this time, for Pete’s sake.”

Peter opened the door for them as he countered her statement with the sentence, “I won’t get sick if she doesn’t wear her hat.” Susan scowled at him as the three made their way down the steps and onto the sidewalk. Edmund was already long gone, and the trio of siblings parted at the corner, with Peter heading off to the Underground and Lucy and Susan walking in the direction of the hospital. 

* * *

 

 

Nancy stood at the reception desk when Susan and Lucy stepped through the door. “Oh, thank heaven!” Nancy exclaimed. “We haven’t had anyone to cover the evening shift! Can you stay, Susan, dear?”

Susan glanced around the empty reception area and raised an eyebrow. “I suppose,” she answered. “What seems to be the problem?”

“We have a man up in room two-oh-four that needs constant observation and all of the girls have been here all day. You’re the only one I had not called in,” Nancy answered. “Are you all right?” she added as an afterthought. Susan nodded. “Good. Now, can you stay?”

“The night?” Susan asked. Nancy nodded. “Well, Lucy asked to come in with me. Would it be all right if she stayed?”

“I don’t see why not,” Nancy answered. “Feel free to use the phone to ring home and let your mother know. Now, the patient’s chart is right here,” she said, handing Susan the chart. “Just keep an eye on him; I’ve been checking on the hour and the half.” Susan nodded. ”Are you sure you’re up to this?” Nancy asked, reaching out to brush a hand along Susan’s arm.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Susan answered, opening up the file. “Who is he?” she asked. “American?”

“Yes, he came in with our soldiers. The main hospital sent him to us, since they are so overrun with British lads.”

Susan flipped through the pages as Nancy went to fetch her coat and Wellingtons from the nurses’ lounge. When she stepped back into the reception area, Susan had just closed the file. “He was wounded pretty badly then?” she asked.

“Terribly,” Nancy replied. “He’s on all sorts of medications, but he’s mostly lucid. He talks himself through the worst of it, I believe. It’s horrid to hear, though.” Susan nodded as Nancy stepped near the door. “Jocelyn will be here to relieve you by midnight; she had the early shift last night so she left just after dawn.”

“Yes, all right,” Susan answered. “Have a good night, Nancy.”

“Yes, you as well. And I’m glad you’re feeling better, Susan.” With that the door closed behind her, leaving the two sisters standing alone in the reception area.

After a long silence, Lucy spoke; her voice echoed down the empty tile hallways. “It is rather spooky here alone, isn’t it?” she asked. Susan nodded once, taking off her coat and walking into the room that was reserved for the nurses. “Do you suppose we should ring Mother?” Lucy called.

“I’ll do it,” Susan said, reappearing. “Why don’t you hang your coat and take off your boots.” Lucy vanished into the room as Susan stepped behind the desk. With a brief connection to the operator, she was connected to her house phone. She explained the situation briefly and waited for the argument.

On the other end of the line, Helen was quiet as Susan held her breath. Finally Helen spoke, her voice soft. “Well, I suppose it would be all right. She’ll be with you, and you have a shelter there at the hospital if you need it.”

“Of course,” Susan agreed readily. “We’ll be perfectly safe.”

“Yes, all right then,” Helen agreed, “But I expect you both to be home as soon as your shift is over.” Susan offered up agreement and hung up the phone. Lucy stood in the front of the desk, looking up the stairs.

From just above them they could hear the distinct sound of a bell ringing. “I suppose that would be him,” Lucy whispered in awe. “Are you going to go?”

“I have to,” Susan answered, coming around the desk. Lucy followed her up the stairs and to the right. The door for two-oh-four was slightly ajar and a beam of diffused light spilled out onto the tile of the hallway. Everything was dark and cool in the corridor as Lucy stepped up beside Susan. The elder girl reached out and gently pushed the door open, hearing the soft creak of the wood.

Inside the room was a single lamp at the bedside; the light spilled out in a soft glow on the bed and the patient in it. He would have been fair-skinned if it was not for the sun burnt nose, but they could make out a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of the nose. His hair was shorn close to his head but one could tell it was a light strawberry blonde. His left arm was heavily bandaged and the far right side of his face, near his ear, was badly burned. He had a pair of white sheets pulled up high on his torso so that just his shoulders and arms were visible.

“Miss Caldin, I’m sorry to bother you,” he said in a raspy voice, turning his head. “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re not Miss Caldin.”

“No, I’m not,” Susan said politely, stepping further into the room. Lucy lingered in the door, watching with wide eyes. “I’m Miss Pevensie.”

The young man in the bed could not have been any older than Susan; he still had some of the youthful chubbiness in his cheeks. “Pleasure, Miss Pevensie. I’m Alton Barker; but my friends call me Ton.” His eyes drifted past Susan to where Lucy stood, staring. “And who’s the young lady?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Susan said. “This is my sister, Lucy. She’s staying the evening with me. Does it bother you?” she asked, coming across the room to look at his intravenous unit.

Ton shook his head, and smiled at Lucy. “Not at all,” he said. “It’s sweet that you two spend time together. I’ve got a brother about your age,” he said to Lucy. “Lenny; he’s a good kid.” Lucy nodded, still unwilling to speak.

“What seems to be the trouble, Mr. Barker?” Susan asked, straightening the cord on the intravenous unit.

He glanced over to the blackout curtains and said, “I’m getting mighty cold, Miss Pevensie. Any chance of getting a blanket or something?”

Susan leaned over and pressed a cool hand to his forehead. He did not appear to have a fever. “Of course,” she answered, smiling. “I’ll fetch you a blanket right away.”

She stepped out of the door, bringing Lucy with her. “Lu, don’t stare at him,” she warned as they stepped down the hall to the linen closet.

“Is he in the hospital because of that burn on his face?” Lucy whispered, ignoring Susan’s scolding. “It doesn’t look so bad. Is that why they sent him here instead of keeping him at Saint Barts?”

Susan threw a disproving look over her shoulder as she pulled down a stack of blankets and handed them to Lucy. “No,” she whispered.

“Then why is he here?” Lucy persisted. “Was it influenza? Is he contagious?”

“No.”

“Then why?” Lucy demanded, stopping short.

Susan pulled backward and grabbed the blankets from Lucy’s arms. Her eyes were dark and heavily lidded as she hissed, “They don’t have spare beds at Saint Barts, and he’s recovering from surgery. That’s why he’s here.”

“Surgery on what?” Lucy whispered as she followed Susan back down the hall.

“Luce,” Susan growled as they approached the door. She stepped inside and they both fell silent; Lucy did not say another word. “Lets get this bedding changed and we’ll add some blankets, all right?” Ton nodded, pushing himself up on his good arm.

Careful hands pulled the sheets away and Lucy brought a hand up to cover her mouth as her jaw dropped into a surprised ‘o’ shape. Underneath the sheets, the boy had no legs. The stumps were wrapped in snow white gauze, but at each end was a tiny bright spot of red. “Are your bandages bothering you?” Susan asked, in a soft and soothing voice. Ton shook his head, his teeth chattering a bit. “All right. We’ll change them in an hour or so.” Ton nodded again as Susan tucked a set of fresh white sheets around him. She layered on three blankets before turning to look at him. “How’s that?” she asked.

“Much better, thanks,” Ton replied, offering a smile that seemed more like a grimace. Susan smiled back, and nodded before heading back toward the door. “Miss Pevensie, I’ve gotten pretty good at figuring out who’s just being nice and who’s treating me good for a reason.” Susan stopped in the doorway to look over her shoulder at him. “And I want you to know that whoever is taking care of your man is doing it just the way you want them to.” Tears sparked in Susan’s eyes but she nodded and stepped out of the room.

Out in the corridor, Lucy fell into step beside Susan as they made their way back to the stairs/ Downstairs was nearly dark but for the single light burning away on the desk. Susan reached the foot of the stairs and took a right into the nurses’ lounge. Lucy followed her silently. Once inside Susan halted almost immediately as though she was unsure of what she was doing there. “Tea?” she asked aloud. Lucy nodded, but did not speak. It did not matter in the least if she had answered; Susan poured enough water in the kettle for several cups.

As she set it on the small fire in the hearth she absentmindedly twirled a strand of hair about her finger. It had wriggled loose of its low ponytail and was dangling in a curl near her neck. Lucy watched her for a long moment, backlit by the fire, before she spoke. “You think about him often, don’t you?” she asked.

Susan jumped, startled, as though she had forgotten that Lucy was there. “I suppose I do,” she replied, pushing the strand of hair back toward the ponytail. It hung there on the side, curly and defiant. “It’s hard not to. I’ve seen him in war before; I know what it is like.”

“He’s a good warrior,” Lucy whispered in support.

“Yes, against swords and catapults. But guns and cannons are another thing entirely.”

Lucy stared at the fire before speaking again. “How often had Peter or Edmund held a sword before we tumbled into Narnia?” she asked. “How often had you fired an arrow to kill?”

“It’s different. We knew that those weapons existed. Caspian has entered a world where we have created things he couldn’t imagine and used them to kill people.” Lucy sighed, conceding to Susan’s logic. Susan was always logical, she could find logic anywhere; even in Narnia, where animals spoke and the Deep Magic could bring you back from death. Nothing had been logical in Narnia; nothing but Susan.

The elder girl reached over and flicked on the radio as the kettle sang on the fire. She crossed the kitchen with the pot and poured two cups of steaming hot water, stirring in the tea almost in one movement. She dropped Lucy’s cup on the side table near her and pushed the swinging door open. “I’ll be out at the desk if you need me,” she said without glancing over her shoulder.

Alone in the reception area she could hear the tinny sound of the radio playing in the kitchen. The light from the desk spilled over the organized file folders that rested on the clean white table top and left pools of light on the tiled floor. She leaned back in the chair and swirled the tea in her cup before taking a sip. The soft sound of swing music was replaced by the static sound of a radio announcer and she closed her eyes. If the bombers were heading this way, she would have to run upstairs and check on the patient before taking Lucy out to the bomb shelter. When the announcer’s voice was replaced by the soft tinny noise of swing music again Susan settled back further in the chair. Without an alarm there was no reason to move.

She swung her feet up on the desk and took another sip of her tea, letting the heat spill over her tongue and scald her throat. A few moments later the door to the kitchen creaked open slightly and stopped. She pretended that she did not hear the noise, even though it echoed through the hospital. Nothing moved for a very long moment and Susan could almost sense Lucy holding her breath. The door creaked open a bit more and Susan hid a smile behind her tea cup. “Oh, just get out here,” she called, laughing. Lucy stepped out, pushing the door open all the way. “What’s the matter?” Susan asked, kicking her feet off the desk and leaning forward to put her cup down.

“It’s creepy in there. Can I stay in here with you?” Lucy whispered, tiptoeing across the tile floor to stand in front of the desk.

The older girl nodded, gesturing to one of the chairs that ran along the walls. Lucy crept over and curled up in the chair, watching as Susan leaned back in the chair again and sipped her tea. “What do you do here all night?” Lucy asked, interrupting the silence again.

With a sigh, Susan put her feet down again and leaned forward. “I sit in the quiet and think,” she replied. “I think about what I’ll do tomorrow and what I need to read next for when classes start back.” She narrowed her eyes at Lucy and finished, “So sit quietly Lu.”

Lucy sighed as well and looked away from where Susan sat. She took in the sterile white walls and the barren white tile floor. Her gaze traveled from the floor to the walls to the steps. The steps were coated in a thin brown carpet, the only color in the void, it seemed. She looked up the stairs and her eyes traveled to the door of room two-oh-four. From the door of the room her eyes traveled back down to Susan where she sat behind the desk. “This is so dreary,” she said, causing Susan to jump in her chair. “How do you stand it?”

Upstairs, the bell rang. Lucy immediately jumped to her feet and started across the floor. “Where do you think you’re going?” Susan asked, coming around the desk. Lucy pointed at the stairs and Susan shook her head. “No Lucy. Stay seated. I’ll be right back.” Lucy paused in her step and watched as Susan strode past her and climbed the stairs.

“Oh, all right then,” Lucy said in a huff, stomping back over to the chairs.

Susan turned again and headed back up the stairs and down to the room. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. “Can I help you?” she asked.

Ton pushed himself up in the bed, wincing. “I was hoping for some company,” he said, gesturing to a chair beside the bed. “Would you grant me a few minutes?”

She slipped around the bed and nodded, “Yes, of course.” She slipped around the bed and sat in the chair. “Where were you stationed?” Susan asked.

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Ton said. “What about you? Who is the man that you’re thinking about? A brother? A father?”

Susan frowned and glanced to the blackout curtains to allow herself a moment to think. Finally she turned back to Ton and spoke. Her voice broke a bit as she found her words. “My fiancée,” she whispered. “He wanted to save me, so he went away.” Ton looked away. “He thought he was ready for war,” she trailed off.

“And you don’t?” Ton asked softly. Susan shook her head, looking away. “He must have thought he had something to offer the effort if he went away.” She shrugged as she stood up to check the intravenous cord. “He’ll come back, Miss Pevensie. He would never forgive himself if he didn’t.” Susan nodded again, unable to trust her voice.

“Let me tell you a story. One night I was sitting outside my tent when a new soldier came up to me. I had never seen him before, but he just sat down next to me and struck up a conversation. He told me of the girl he left behind, of how her dark hair shone like midnight and her blue eyes sparkled like diamonds. He compared her to a magic that he couldn’t name. In that moment I knew that he was going to return to her. I think that every man that goes to war feels that fervent need to return to his lady love. But this man that I spoke to, I would like to think that he is your love. That he will return to you, and perhaps you won’t look so sad anymore.” Susan’s gaze fell on Ton and she offered up a small smile.

“What’s her name?” she whispered, glancing away.

“Sara Johns,” Ton answered smiling. “She’s beautiful; with long blonde hair and bright brown eyes. She’s perfect. We’re to be married when I get home,” he continued. His eyes drifted down and his grimace returned. “If she will still have me.” His voice broke a bit as he continued, “After all, I am only half the man I was when I left.”

“No,” Susan answered, reaching over and patting his hand. “She will love you no matter how you return.” She turned and headed for the door, pausing to turn back. “If I could have Caspian returned to me I would rejoice in it, no matter his condition. As long as he lived, I would be happy.”

She turned back to step out the door but froze in her spot as Ton’s voice drifted over her. “Caspian Tennyson?” he asked. 


	3. The Telegram

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Susan's bad news is confirmed.

Time crawled by for Lucy as she waited in the reception area. She listened to the faint sound of the radio drumming away in the lounge and the occasional pop of the fire. Somewhere upstairs she imagined that she heard the steady drip of a leaky faucet and the soft hum of voices. She stood up and stretched out several knots that had built up while she was curled in the seat. She took a few tentative steps toward the stairs and glanced up to the top. Susan did not appear to call down to her so she stepped a bit closer. Her foot rested on the bottom stair as she listened for the sound of movement on the second floor.

When she heard nothing she pushed herself up the stairs and onto the platform. Murmuring voices came from room two-oh-four and Lucy crept along the wall to listen more intently.

“And then he told me that he had only lived in London for a short time and that he didn’t know much about it. He said that he knew that the Underground was a speeding train that ran on rails under the streets and that fencing class was the most fun he had ever had in lessons,” Ton was saying. “He was quite a character, and he told the most fantastic stories!” Susan laughed and Lucy’s heart leapt. “He would tell stories of griffins being used to storm castles and fighting battles beside minotaurs and ogres! Quite an imagination on your man.”

Through the crack of the door Lucy could see Susan sitting in the chair beside the bed; she was leaned forward as though hanging on his every word. She was smiling, a truly brilliant smile that Lucy had not seen since the day Caspian left. “When did you last see him?” she asked, her voice thick.

The silence grew louder as Lucy leaned against the wall grasping for each whispered word. The wounded soldier had seen Caspian before he had come to London, which meant that Caspian had possibly been at the battle where the boy had lost his legs. She crossed her fingers behind her back and leaned a bit closer to the door, straining to hear.

“I remember it exactly, miss,” Ton whispered, barely loud enough for Lucy to hear. “It was on June sixth. Barely a month ago.”

His voice broke and he fell silent for a few moments. Susan leaned closer and placed her hand on his as she spoke, “And what?” she asked softly. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to tell you,” Ton answered, his voice catching in his throat.

“Please,” she pleaded, leaning closer. “Please.”

Ton glanced away, towards the door, and Lucy darted back out of sight. His words were soft but she heard them as though he were right beside her. “He was there when the shell went off. He was only a few yards away on the beach. I didn’t see him afterwards, I don’t know if he was hit.”

“Oh,” Susan said, her own voice catching in her throat. Lucy leaned back over to look at her and she found her sister holding her hand to her heart with tears rolling down her cheeks. “Oh, no.”

Lucy leaned forward and teetered on her tiptoes. She lost her balance and tumbled into the room, forcing open the door and spilling onto the tile. Both occupants of the room jumped in surprise and stared openly. “Sorry,” she whispered, her eyes falling on Susan. The older girl was crying softly, tears glistening on her cheeks. “Oh, Sue,” she said, pulling herself up from the floor. “I’m sure he’s still all right.” Susan nodded, wiping the tears from her cheeks and rising from the chair. “We’ll hear from him any day now,” Lucy continued.

Susan came around the bed and checked the intravenous unit before turning to Ton. “Are you all right, Mr. Barker?” she asked. He nodded once, unwilling to meet her eyes. “I’ll be back to check on you in a bit. Try to get some rest, all right?”

“Of course,” he answered, staring at the blackout curtains. Susan gently pushed Lucy out the door and then moved to close it when Ton’s voice stopped her again. “For what it’s worth, Miss Pevensie; he spoke of his lady often and he told of her strength and bravery. He said that she had inspired him to fight as he never had before. His every thought seemed to be of you.” Susan nodded, feeling a knot tighten in her stomach, and stepped from the door.

The two girls descended the stairs in silence, with Lucy trailing Susan by two steps. Once in the reception area Susan took a right and headed into the lounge once more. She picked up the kettle and placed it back on the fire then crossed to the radio and turned the volume down. Lucy stopped in the doorway and watched her as she crossed to the countertop and rinsed out Lucy’s discarded tea cup. With a glance around she sighed and stepped past Lucy and into the reception area. In only a moment she had returned with her empty tea cup and crossed back to the sink.

Lucy watched her in complete silence, unable to decide if she should speak or allow Susan to pretend as if the conversation upstairs had never happened. That seemed to be Susan’s plan as she cleaned the cups and hung them on the hooks to dry. Lucy sat down at the table and watched Susan bustle around, straightening things and organizing frivolities. The radio spouted soft and slow dancing music, contrasting with the speed with which Susan was fluttering around the lounge.

Suddenly Susan froze in her movements, clutching a freshly folded hand towel and spun at Lucy. “He’s alive, isn’t he?” she demanded. Lucy jumped slightly in her chair and stammered to speak. “Aslan wouldn’t let him die here, right?” Susan continued. “He’s alive, somewhere.”

Lucy stared at her with wide blue eyes before speaking slowly, “What do you think?” she asked cautiously.

“I don’t know what I think, Lu!” Susan exploded, dropping the towel and bringing her hands up to her throat in a sign of desperation. “I hate waiting for him to come home.”

Lucy nodded but did not move from where she sat. She watched Susan with a wary eye, waiting for her to continue moving about the room. Finally, Susan sank into a chair and dropped her head into her hands. “I am losing faith,” she whispered so softly that Lucy almost did not hear her. “It seems like so long ago that I felt Aslan with me,” she continued.

“He is here,” Lucy whispered, pulling her legs up to wrap her arms around them. “He’s here and he’s watching you. You just need to open yourself up to him.” Susan did not reply, instead she sighed and leaned back in her chair.

The two sisters were silent for a long time; Lucy had no idea what to say and Susan was not interested in talking. After thirty minutes of sitting, Susan got to her feet and left the lounge. Out in the foyer she crossed to the desk and picked up the patient’s file. Lucy peeked out to watch her but did not enter the room. Susan opened the file and began to read.

Despite the man’s injuries, he would be released as soon as he was able to be transported. He would be returned to America, leaving all of Susan’s questions unanswered. She knew that she had to get all that she could from Ton before he went back; she needed to know if Caspian was still all right. She sighed to herself; she would get answers.

* * *

As the hands on the clock in the foyer neared eleven thirty Susan pushed herself up from the chair and made her way toward the stairs. Lucy peeked out from behind the door of the lounge but did not move to follow her. Susan treaded lightly on the stairs, brushing her hand on the railing as she climbed. The light was still on in Ton’s room as she approached the door.

Reaching out, she pressed the door lightly with her fingertips and it creaked open. Ton was sitting upright in the bed with a pad of paper on his lap. He glanced up as she stepped in and he quickly closed the pad of paper. “Miss Pevensie,” he said, offering a smile. “What can I help you with?”

“Its time to change your bandages, Mr. Barker,” she replied, stepping closer. “Am I interrupting?”

Ton shook his head sadly and set the pad to the side of the bed. “No, ma’am. I was just tryin’ to write to my Sara,” he said, glancing toward the blackout curtains. “I want her to know that I’m all right.” His gaze drifted to the flat sheets at the end of the bed. “Well, alive anyway.”

“She’ll be grateful,” Susan answered, coming across the room to the bed. “Just a letter will cheer her radically.”

Downstairs the bell chimed, signaling that someone had come in the front door. Susan had just unwrapped the stained gauze from Ton’s legs when Jocelyn Kingsley stepped through the door. She was dressed identically to Susan, with long red hair that was tied back into a single braid. Without a word she stepped up to the bed and offered her hands to hold the bandaging as Susan cleaned and dressed the wounds.

The moved soundlessly together as they switched out Ton’s bed sheets and tucked his blanket around his frame. “Mr. Barker,” Susan said, handing him his pad of paper. “This is Miss Kingsley. She’ll be staying with you the rest of the night.”

“Hey,” Ton offered, smiling faintly at her. “Alton Barker,” he said, outstretching a hand. “It’s a pleasure.” Jocelyn nodded, a smile on her face.

“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Barker.”

Susan turned to leave and Ton called after her. “Miss Pevensie, I’m sure that your man is fine. After all, he was one of the most optimistic soldiers I’ve ever met.” Susan paused at the door and nodded without meeting Ton’s eyes. She stepped from the room with Jocelyn, and heard the door click shut behind them.

“How are you, Susan?” Jocelyn asked as they descended the stairs. The door to the lounge creaked open and Lucy emerged. “Oh, Lucy!” Jocelyn exclaimed, jumping in shock. “I didn’t realize you were here!”

“Sorry,” Lucy said. She was wearing her coat and carrying Susan’s.

Susan took her coat and pulled it on while she crossed to the front desk. Picking up Ton’s file, she handed it to Jocelyn. “This is for you. He really just likes to talk,” she said. “He’s been cold a lot, but he has an extra blanket now.”

Jocelyn took the file but did not open it. Her brown eyes were peering intently at Susan. “Are you all right?” she asked evenly. “I heard that you fainted in the Underground last night.”

“I’m fine,” she answered, placing her hat on her head. “I’m going to go home and rest. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

Jocelyn nodded, flipping open the file. She still did not look at the paperwork, preferring to hold Susan’s gaze. “Yes, all right. Be safe.”

The two sisters quickly vacated the hospital and stepped out into wet streets in their Wellingtons. The rain had let up in the dark stillness of the night, but the streets were still soggy and slippery with rain. They carried their umbrellas in their hands as they walked among the darkened streets. The street lamps were extinguished, since it was so long after curfew, and the two girls strolled leisurely together.

Finally they reached the corner of their street they paused. “Whose car is that?” Lucy whispered, pointing to the car waiting at the curb of the townhouse.

“I’m not sure,” Susan answered. “It’s terribly late for visitors, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps one of Father’s professor friends is visiting for the week,” Lucy offered as the two of them approached the house at a fast clip.

They hastily climbed the stairs and pushed the outer door open. The inner door swung wide as they shed coats and Wellingtons in the mudroom. Helen stood in the door frame, tears on her cheeks. “Oh, no,” Susan whispered. “What has happened?”

“Commodore Gloster is here, Susan,” Helen whispered. “He has received word of Caspian’s deployment. He has been waiting for you.”

Susan pushed past her mother and stumbled into the parlor. Robert Pevensie and Alexander Gloster sat in chairs opposite the flickering fire. They held glasses of scotch in their grips and their eyes drifted to her. “Susan,” the Commodore said, his voice deep and booming in the stillness of the room. “Forgive me for intruding.”

With a wave of her hand, she avoided his guilt and gestured to him to continue. “One of my aides at the war office received a transmission from the front lines this evening. He felt that it was something to bring to me immediately.” He rose to his feet and offered her an opened envelope with shaking hands. “I’m so sorry.”

Susan snatched the envelope from his hand and tore into it. The telegram fell open in her hands as the envelope drifted to the floor. _C. Tennyson missing. Stop. Lost in op overlord. Stop. Presumed dead. Stop. Notify next of kin. Stop._ She felt the telegram slipping from her grip but there was no sound as it tumbled to the floor. Susan’s knees buckled and the room spun twice before settling back into its rightful place. “Excuse me,” she said, stumbling backwards. “I have to go to bed.”

“Susan,” Helen whispered, reaching out to brush her hand along her daughter’s arm. “Are you all right?” Susan staggered away from her, out of her reach. She nodded once and bumped her shoulder into the doorway of the parlor. Leaning there she felt the hot tears spill down her cheeks and splash onto the white lapel of her nurse’s uniform. “Susie,” Helen said, using the name that she had not used in years for her eldest daughter.

Susan stumbled away from her again, falling over the bottom step of the staircase. Lucy lurched to help her but she waved her away, reaching out to grab the railing. The four people in the foyer watched as she made her way up the steps. At the top, as she vanished, they heard the unmistakable sound of sobbing echoing down on them.

The foyer was silent for only a moment when the door pushed open and Peter stepped in, carrying his cap and jacket. He was humming to himself and dancing a jig. “Oh,” he said, freezing mid-step. “Hello all!” He glanced around. “Why so somber?” He turned to meet the Commodore’s gaze and he grimaced. “Oh, damn. Where is she?” he asked, glancing around.

“Her room,” Lucy whispered with one foot on the bottom step.

Helen passed Peter the telegram and turned away to clear the men’s scotch glasses. With a pass over the telegram he sighed. “Oh, damn,” he repeated. “I’ll go.”

“I don’t know that that would be a good idea, Peter,” Robert whispered, reaching out to clap his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Perhaps she just needs time.”

Peter glanced over his shoulder at his father and shook his head. “No, Father. She needs me,” he said. Without another word he turned and jogged up the stairs to the top. Susan’s door was still open, with light spilling out into the hall. When he reached the portal she was sprawled on the bed, facedown, with her shoulders shaking with muffled sobs. He approached her quietly until he was perched on the side of the bed. “Susan,” he whispered.

“Go away,” she mumbled. He did not stand and retreat as she must have expected him to. He remained perched on the bed, his hand resting near her hip until she finally rolled to her back and glared at him. “Why are you still here?” she asked. Her face was red and swollen from crying.

Peter shrugged one shoulder and flopped down on the bed. He reached over and brushed Susan’s hand. She gripped it and rolled up on her side. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. He glanced to her and reached out to wipe a tear from her nose. “Say something,” she whispered.

“He’ll be all right,” Peter murmured, sitting up. She nodded and struggled to sit as well. “You’ll see him again.” He dropped an arm around her shoulders and embraced her. She leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. “What’s going on?” he asked.

She sagged against him, feeling the familiar warmth of her oldest brother falling over her. “One of the patients at the hospital knew Caspian,” she whispered. Peter stilled beside her. “The night before he lost his legs he was having dinner with him.”

“Oh, no,” Peter muttered.

Susan shook her head slowly, allowing a few more tears to run down her cheeks. “I’m not strong enough,” she whispered.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. She reared back to look at him, astonishment in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he retorted, a smile on his lips. “I could have sworn that I’ve seen you lead an army.” His eyes narrowed. “Or was that not you?” Susan pulled her hand back and slapped him lightly on the arm. “We’ll make it, Sue. I promise.”

“Ok,” she whispered.


	4. The Stone Cell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Caspian is a prisoner of war and it rains all the time in London.

He rolled over and pulled his hands out from under his face. He groaned as his head bumped stone. Opening one eye he surveyed the room. He was alone in the middle of a stone floor, his knee throbbed with each beat of his heart and he found that when he attempted to move it pain shot through as though he had been shot. Sitting up, he took in the dimensions of the small room. It was barely two meters across and three meters long. It was barely taller than him, but he did not attempt to stand. He already knew that he could not rise to his feet.

His knee was bandaged roughly with white gauze and his uniform pant leg had been sliced all the way up. His initial assessment had been correct. He had been shot.

Groaning, he leaned against the wall and brought his eyes up the wall to the roof. At the top of the wall towards the crease of the ceiling he noticed a small line of daylight. He had some sort of window above him, that would come in handy when he was forced to count the days.

The bolt on the door lifted and a man stepped in. He wore the gray of the SS soldier and did not look him in the eye. Instead he stepped aside to allow a young woman to come in. She carried a black bag and wore a white dress. "Hello," she said in heavily accented English. "You are awake dis visit, yes?" she continued, kneeling beside him. He scooted away, staring at her. "Do not fret," she continued. "I am just here to look at leg, yes?"

With wide eyes he watched as she reached out and began to unwrap his wounded leg. "Where am I?" he whispered, shifting his gaze from the woman to the soldier.

The soldier spoke something in German and the woman answered rapidly. The soldier answered quickly and she nodded. "You are in war camp," she said. "You will have visit soon by dolmetscher, er, interpreter." She cleaned and redressed his wound swiftly with assured movements.

"Am I a prisoner?" he asked softly, looking more at the officer then the girl.

"Ja," the soldier answered with a sharp nod.

"The interpreter will bring food," the woman offered, a small smile on her lips. She put the final twist on his bandage and pushed herself up from the floor. She bowed her head in a gesture of farewell before being swept from the room by the solider.

Alone once more, Caspian sighed heavily and leaned back against the wall. He had no idea what he should expect from a war camp, but he knew that in the end it would not matter. All that matters was communicating with Susan and her family. It had been weeks since he had sent out a letter, and even longer since he had received one.

He tested his leg by pushing up with just one foot in an attempt at a backwards push-up. Pain shot through his leg and up to his thigh and he groaned aloud. Collapsing back into his original position, he grimaced and rubbed at his leg. It was not the worst injury he had received by far. The time that Amada had shot him in the arm with an arrow popped to his mind unbidden, and the face of his wife of fifty years flashed before his eyes.

He slid down sideways and lay flat on the stone floor. He vaguely remembered the pamphlet that they had made him read about becoming a prisoner of war. He was to be treated with respect and given food and water daily. He doubted that this cell was similar to the barracks that the soldiers resided in, but he would take what he was given. This was just a stopping point until he made it back to Susan. 

* * *

 

He must have fallen asleep there on the floor because by the time he opened his eyes the sliver of a window was dark. For a moment he was uncertain what had woken him until the door creaked open and reveled a stout man with a thick graying beard. He struggled to sit up against the wall as the man smiled at him. "Guten Tag," he said, stepping into the room. He glanced around at the stone floor and turned back out the door. "Ich verlange ein Bett und ein Stuhl für die Soldaten! Das ist Misshandlung!" he yelled down the hall. Turning back he smiled at the man on the floor. "I'm sorry," he said, continuing in accented English. "The state of this cell is unacceptable, sir. But we will have that fixed immediately." He reached up and pulled on a string of the lamp that hung from the ceiling. He sat on the ground and brought his clipboard up to his face to see in the light. "Now that you're awake we can get your information." He smiled at the man and said, "What is your name, soldier?"

"Warrant Officer Caspian Tennyson of the Thirtieth Corps; British Army. I want a ledger of paper and a pen. I need to write a letter."

The interpreter sighed. "Of course, Mister Tennyson. Unfortunately I'm just the negotiator. I will relay your demands."

"You made demands already," Caspian snapped. "I have the right to contact my family and tell them that I'm alive."

The negotiator nodded once and offered another smile. "Yes, of course, Mister Tennyson. You must, however, allow for our limited luxuries," he said. He checked something off on the clipboard and continued to speak. "Now that your health has stabilized, we will be moving you to a more secure location."

Caspian arched an eyebrow as he took in the rock walls and the double layered steel doors before he turned back to the negotiator. "More secure than a cave?" he asked. "Believe me; nothing is more secure than a cave."

The negotiator nodded and shrugged at the same time. "Any matter, you will be moved as soon as you are able to walk on your own, yes?" he continued. Caspian glowered at him but did not respond. "I will see that you are given your paper and pen as soon as we are able, sir." As he rose to his feet his knees cracked loudly. With a quick bow to Caspian he vanished out the door.

Moments later the soldier reappeared with two men in tow. One of the men was carrying a standard issue military cot and another was carrying a single chair. They placed them against one wall and vanished without a word. With a groan, Caspian pushed himself up onto the bed and deflated like a balloon with a hole in its side. He stared up at the rock ceiling and listened carefully to the steady beat of his own heart.

* * *

 

_He stood in the midst of an empty field with long green grass swaying gently against his knees. Before him rose a tall solid structure of stone and mortar; covered in patches of grass and the occasional struggling tree. Before the structure stood a lone figure, outlined against the slant of sunlight that spilled from just behind the apex of the temple. He recognized the stance immediately and paused to take in the gentle curve of the back as she twisted to glance back at him._

_She turned to face him and a breeze lifted wisps of hair to smatter them against her cheek. She reached up with soft fingers and pulled them back behind her ear. He stood before her, squinting in the sunlight streaming from behind her. It spilled over long brown hair and dancing eyes, carving out the planes of his face and giving him a haunted, unguarded look. She felt a smile tugging at the corner of her lips but she restrained; she wanted to take him in completely before shattering the moment._

_He took a step toward her, watching carefully as her eyes raked him over. His gait was unlabored, his knee was uninjured. He walked with the power and grace that he always had. His eyes did not waver from her face, watching and waiting for her to smile that brilliant smile at him. As he stepped before her he was rewarded with that shattering smirk that flowed over and through him like the lightning of a summer storm._

_She reached out and brushed a hand along his cheek, feeling the warmth cascade from his body and fill the frozen voids within her. She felt his hand travel round her waist and pull her close against him. She lifted her chin to kiss his lips and felt the strength flow back into her weakened limbs. She was rejuvenated by his very presence._

_He stepped away from her, keeping her hands firmly in his grasp. He spoke, though his voice was barely lifted above a whisper. "You are more beautiful today that you have ever been, my love," he said, brushing his featherlight fingers along her cheek. "How has your day been?"_

_She sighed and leaned her forehead against his chest. His hand brushed along her hair, smoothing it over in the slight breeze that washed over them. "Oh, it was horrible," she whispered, feeling a single tear roll down her face. "We got word that you've gone missing." The single tear turned into a second._

_"That's nonsense," he whispered in her ear. She lifted her head and met his steady gaze. He dropped a delicate kiss on her forehead. "I'm here, aren't I? Perfectly safe; and dreaming of you."_

Susan bolted upright in her bed, gasping for air. Beside her Lucy jumped and tumbled from the bed, crashing to the floor. "Oh!" Susan cried out, her hand flying to her forehead. "Oh!" she whispered, glancing to where Lucy lay glaring up at her.

* * *

 

Hundreds of miles away in his stone walled cell, Caspian stretched and opened his eyes. He sat up and yawned, rubbing his eyes. The slit was well lit again, day had dawned and his dream had ended. It had been the same dream three times, and each one played differently in the end. The first night he had merely seen her standing at a distance, the second night he had barely touched her before he had jolted awake; this time was the first time she had spoken to him. He had rejoiced in hearing her voice, real or imagined. She was enchanting.

He tested his weight gently on his bad knee as he reached up above his head in an attempt to uncoil the knots in his shoulders. The cell that he was kept in was barely large enough to stretch in, let alone walk off his tensions. He touched the ceiling with his fingertips and pushed up on his toes. His knee protested angrily and he sank back down on the cot with a groan.

Keeping himself entertained in the small space had grown more difficult as the time passed, and each day he grew wearier of the four stone walls pressing him on him. He began to imagine that he was in the underground bunker of the Stone Table; that he was waiting patiently for the Pevensie siblings to join him for a war conference. The daydreams kept the monsters of loneliness at bay, allowing him to picture them as they were all those years ago in Narnia.

The latch on the door clicked and the girl, Miss Schmidt, stepped into the room. "Guten tag, sir," she said, nodding her head. "Knee is good, ja?" He smiled at her. He had learned of the last few days that her English was limited, but she was easy to smile and she laughed much like Susan did. Miss Schmidt kneeled beside the cot and unwrapped his leg dressing. As she cleaned the wound she hummed a melody that he could not place.

"What is that song?" he asked her, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes against the pain that shot through his leg as she poked and prodded the wound. She lifted her eyes to him and arched her eyebrows. "The song?" he repeated, and then hummed a few bars.

"Das Sandmännchen," she answered softly, looking away. She wrapped his leg back up and tied the bandage in a knot. Rising to her feet and smiled at him. "You vill valk soon enough," she said, stepping toward the door and rapping twice. "Running is better," she added in a whisper. The door swung open to reveal a soldier waiting for her.

Alone once more, Caspian pondered the nurse's statement. He was improving, to be certain, and the negotiator kept mentioning transfers; he doubted he would be given free reign to run, though.

He rolled his eyes along the ceiling as he had done for days now. He felt as though he knew every nook and cranny of the room; he had memorized the indentations and followed the cracks to more cracks. His eyes scanned down the wall to his right and he followed a crack that reached from the ceiling of the room to the floor. His eyes traveled the length of it until they reached just below eye level. He frowned. There was a small circle in the wall that was of darker stone then the rest of the cell.

Uncertain as to how he had missed it previously, Caspian slid off the cot and onto his healthy knee. Crawling across the floor on a combination of his hands and his good knee he managed to make it to the wall. He sat himself on the chair and stared at the spot blankly. It appeared to be rock but when he brushed his fingers over it they dragged slightly; it was slight tacky to the touch.

With his thumbnail he pushed into it and came away with the darker substance under the nail. It was soft. With more vigor, he pressed again. A clump came away in is hand. Within a few minutes the hole was cleared, revealing a small dark space twice the size of his closed fist. Within the space it was dark, but the light of the cell caught a glint of something when he moved his head. He reached in and groped around for a moment before locating the object.

As he withdrew his hand he found himself holding a large golden coin about the size of a saucer. On one side of the coin was the raised image of a great lion head. On the opposite side of the coin there were words etched into the gold. Be ready to fall, for you never know when you shall need to fly. Puzzled, Caspian flipped the coin back over and stared at the lion's image. He passed his hand over it and slid it into his pocket. When he lifted his eyes to the hole in the wall, it was gone. 

* * *

 

"Ugh, it never rained this much in Narnia," Edmund grumbled from the window seat. Peter and Lucy sat nearest to him at the chess set on the table while Susan sat across the room by the darkened fireplace. The pitter-patter of raindrops in the flue was lulling them all into a drowsy silence. "I had plans, you know," he continued.

With a sigh, Peter moved his rook to take Lucy's knight. "Yes, so did we all, Ed," he muttered. "But we're here, aren't we? Enjoying a rousing game of chess."

"Move your queen, Luce," Edmund said, glancing over. Lucy raked the board over and grinned. She moved the piece and Peter swore under his breath. "You're welcome," Edmund finished, turning back to the window.

With a glare in his direction, Peter huffed. "You didn't want to play," he snapped. "So butt out." Lucy giggled as she moved her queen again. "Are you sure you want to do that, Luce?"

"Checkmate."

"Bugger."

Susan pushed herself out of the chair and crossed over to the bookshelf. She withdrew a volume and crossed back to the chair. She sat down and placed the book in her lap but did not open it. All three siblings watched her for a moment. "You going to read that?" Edmund questioned.

"No." She kept her eyes on the empty fireplace.

Silence fell once more in the room, filling the empty spaces with its suffocating fog and dense emotion. It spilled off of Susan like water from the roof of the townhouse and rolled onto each of the other children like the waves of the ocean. They recoiled from it by each speaking aloud, as though to chase away demons with the sound of their voice. They bantered and bickered and played another game of chess as Susan sat silently by the cold hearth, grasping the book in her lap and fighting to keep the tears at bay.

Her dreams had been coming more frequently, some when she was still awake. They were all in the same location; on the field of battle before the Stone Table. Sometimes Caspian was there, and sometimes it was empty; once it had been Aslan at a distance but she had not been able to call out to him. She had told no one of the dreams, not even Lucy. She felt as if she had been going mad at night, alone in her room. In the darkness she imagined that she was in the chamber of the temple that housed the Stone Table and she was waiting for Caspian to come for her. She pretended that she had stayed in Narnia with him and he was simply down the hall.

The hardest parts were sitting in silence, surrounded by her family. She longed to once again be free of the sadness and pain that she had felt since they returned from Narnia. She wanted, more than anything, to laugh and play as they did on the beach when they had first arrived back at the shores of Cair Paravel.

In some part of her mind she identified her name being spoken but she was so deep into her thoughts that she did not rouse to it. It was not until she felt a warm hand on her shoulder and weight on her hand that she lifted her eyes to stare at her sister. Lucy stood directly before her, watching with worry while Peter stood at her side, his hand on her shoulder. Edmund was just behind Lucy, his arms were crossed and his eyes were wide.

"You're crying," Lucy whispered. Susan reached to brush her hand along her cheeks and they came away wet. "What's wrong? Is it Caspian?"

Susan shook her head. "I miss having fun," she answered.

"We miss you having fun too, believe me," Edmund muttered. Peter reached over and slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "What?" Edmund demanded. "Fun Susan was much better than moping Susan!"

"Let's go outside and do something," Susan said suddenly, brushing the tears away.

All three remaining siblings glanced over their shoulders to the pouring rain beating against the windows. "It's raining," Lucy finally answered.

Susan pushed away from her chair and startled all of them. "So?" she questioned as she smoothed her skirt. "Let's go anyway!"

The siblings exchanged glances. Peter nodded once. "All right," he said, grinning. "Get your raincoats, let's go for a walk." Susan and Lucy smiled at each other and they both dashed for the mudroom to collect coats and Wellingtons.

Behind them, Peter and Edmund glanced to each other and grimaced. "Let's just keep her distracted as long as we can," Peter whispered.

"Do you think she's going mad, Pete?" Edmund asked. The older boy nodded sharply as they crossed toward the entry hall. "Well, you know what they say…" he trailed off.

"What do they say, Ed?" Peter asked softly as he watched Susan and Lucy tug on their boots.

Edmund watched the girls for a moment before grinning at his older brother. "Though this be madness - yet there is method in't," he said. Rolling his eyes, Peter groaned.

In the mudroom Susan turned to look over her shoulder. "Coming?" she asked, beaming at them, her hand on the doorknob. Lucy stood beside her, watching the brothers loiter in the doorway.

"What method?" Peter grumbled, stepping in to pick up his Wellingtons. Outside the rain pelted the sidewalk and soaked the street. They were marching out into the London springtime; their only armor against the elements was a thin Mackintosh and some Wellingtons. "All right," he announced, straightening up. "Let's be off, then!" Lucy pulled the door open and together the four of them stepped out on the rain slicked streets of London.


	5. The Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Caspian ends up back in Narnia and Susan meets a strange woman from a familiar place.

They had moved him, finally. His new cell was not much longer than the previous one, but it was  taller; perhaps more than twice his height. There was also a window that looked out at a blue sky; it was considerably larger than his previous window, he noticed.  He had a bed; not quite a real bed, but more than a cot. There was even a pillow. He had a chair and a table and even a few books that the interpreter had brought for him. He now sat at his table, turning the gold coin over and over in his hands and staring at the likeness of the lion on the one side. The words, however, had altered.

Previously they had read Be ready to fall, for you never know when you shall need to fly. Now it read _The time has come to sprout wings_. It was a cryptic phrase, but he held this one close to his heart as he had the previous.

The door bolt slid open and the young nurse came in carrying her black bag. She offered him a smile and knelt wordlessly to inspect his dressing. The door slid shut behind her and there was the sound of footsteps retreating down the hallway. They were, for the most part, alone.

“You are healing quite vell,” she said after she had cleaned the wound. It was no more than a tender spot now, and he could walk well enough on it in the small space that he had. “Soon you vill be able to run and leap,” she continued.

Caspian scoffed at her statement and rolled his eyes to look out the window. “What good is running or leaping if I’m confined to this room?” he demanded, gesturing about wildly. “What good is this damned knee if I’ll be sitting here my whole life?” He pounded on the wounded knee with a fist and struggled not to flinch at the pain that shot through him.

The girl jumped back, frightened no doubt by his tone. Her eyes darted to the door and for a long moment she seemed to be straining to listen. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft as a whisper. “You vill not die here, Mister Tennyson. Tomorrow night I vill return vithout a guard. Be ready just after dark.” Caspian stared at her, his heart hammering in his chest, as the footsteps returned in the hallway and the door creaked open. The guard stood aside as the girl gathered her things and made her way to the door. Caspian turned to stare out the window at the bright blue sky; strange things were afoot. 

* * *

 

Night came swiftly to the small room, though it felt to Caspian as if the day could go no slower. He had barely moved from the cot as he stared off into space. The girl had given him no reason to trust her, he knew; but she had also given him no reason not to. Outside the shallow window the moon was hidden behind a gauze of clouds sending his cell into a strange limbo. The world was shadowed but still it glowed iridescent silver.

Gripped in his hand was the gold coin, warm to his touch. The words had not changed again and he had begun to wonder if he had imagined it in the first place. He stomach growled at him as he lay there. He was tempted to close his eyes and think only of Susan, as he did night after night but instead he laid perfectly still, listening intently for footsteps in the hallway.

It was so silent outside his room that when the bolt was thrown and the door pushed open he jumped an inch off his cot. The young nurse leaned her head in and gestured to him to rise.  He dragged himself to his feet and straightened. His knee creaked in protest but he propelled himself to the door. The nurse waited just outside the cell, glancing left and right as she pulled him free of the door. “What’s going on?” Caspian whispered. She held her hand up to her lips and gestured her after him. “Where are we going?”

“Hush,” she hissed, tiptoeing to the corner and peering around. Satisfied that it was clear, she gestured for him to follow her. They darted down the corridor, staying low to avoid being seen by the other prisoners.  “Come,” she continued, stepping through a door and sliding it closed behind him.

They were outside already; he was shocked by how close the outside air had been to his cell. “Where are we?” he whispered. “Where have you brought me?”

She turned to face him fully. “Mister Tennyson,” she whispered without any hint of accent. “Really, you must be quiet.” He shook his head in disbelief as her voice hit him. “Now, follow me.” She ducked into a squatted run and moved down along the wall of the prison.  He followed as best he could with his knee stiff and aching as he ran. They ducked around the building just as the searchlights came on and the sirens started. “Curses!” the girl muttered. “That took less time than I thought!” She gestured for Caspian to continue along the side of the building. “Stop at the corner, I’ll be right behind you.” Caspian nodded and slid along the wall past her. She turned back and faced the wall. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see her place her hands directly ahead of her on the wall at shoulder level. The wall beneath her hands seemed to glow bright and as she leaned against it the light expanded like a pulse.

She turned back and jogged toward Caspian. He was staring at her with wide eyes. “Who are you?” he asked, feeling a familiar pinch of magic as she approached him. “Who sent you?”

“We can’t talk about this now,” she answered, wrapping a strong hand around his bicep. “Really, can’t you just hush for a moment? And to think Mother said you had been the quiet type.” She rolled her eyes and pushed past him. At the end of the wall she paused and peeked around. It was clear, even the searchlights had not touched the back of the building yet. “Come,” she said again, tugging on him. They burst around the corner at a near run; Caspian limped along at the fastest rate he could manage.

In the center of the yard surrounded by fence was a single oak tree. It seemed an odd place for such a tree.  As they pounded toward the tree the searchlight approached the back of the yard. The sirens blared in Caspian’s ears as he ran; his knee throbbed as the girl dragged him behind her. The searchlight swung closer to them, getting within ten feet of them. As it neared them, Caspian waited for the gunshots to ring out. Then the strangest thing happened. The searchlight blinked out and then back on just past them. “What the?” Caspian whispered, stopping in his tracks. The girl lurched to a stop as he put on the brakes. “Who are you?” he demanded, glaring at her.

“Give me ten more seconds and all will be revealed,” she whispered, yanking his arm again. He stared at her but stumbled in the direction she pulled. They had reached the tree. “Close your eyes, the falling sensation can be sickening,” she continued. With a raised eyebrow of confusion, Caspian closed his eyes. For a split second he felt the rough bark of the tree beneath his hand before there was nothing but falling.

* * *

He opened his eyes flat on his back in a grassy field. The girl sat beside him cross legged staring up at the bright blue sky. Gone were her German garments, replaced with a flowing dress of lavender silk. Her long dark hair had been pulled off her face but streamed down her back. In this light she reminded him of Amada. The thought of her struck him like a blow. Why had she flashed to his mind, he wondered as he struggled to sit up. Perhaps it was the slant of the light, or the way it suffused. It reminded him of Narnia.

She turned to him and smiled before offering her hand. As she pulled him into a sitting position he took in his surroundings and discovered why he felt so intensely about the light. He sat in the middle of the clearing in front of Cair Paravel. He had returned to Narnia.

“What?” he stammered, his head swiveling around rapidly to take in this sudden turn of events. “Who are you?” he demanded, yanking his hand away. “How did you bring me here?”

The girl rose to her feet, brushing grass from her gown.  “Really, Grandfather, you would think you had never experienced magic before,” she muttered as she turned away from him.

“Grandfather?” Caspian whispered, glancing from the girl to the castle beyond her. It had aged slightly; the trees were taller and thicker and the ground was eroded away in places. “You’re my granddaughter, then?” he continued, limping to catch up. The jog across the prison yard had worn out his injury. She nodded curtly and continued on her way. “What’s your name?”

“Alaya,” she answered, offering him a smile in which he saw his Amada. “My mother is Lucinda; your eldest daughter.” She added the last part as though he may have forgotten.

Caspian nodded, bewildered as he followed this younger facsimile of his former wife toward Cair Paravel. They drew within one hundred yards before the massive double doors swung open to reveal two figures dressed in long flowing gowns. One was tall and willowy with dark hair streaked with silver while the other was slightly shorter and more rotund with darker hair. “Alaya!” the taller one called, waving. “Where have you been?” She fell short as the two came closer and her hand flew to her lips. “What is the meaning of this?” she whispered against her hands.

“Hello, Lucinda,” Caspian greeted her. “You look wonderful.”

“Father?” Lucinda asked, inspecting him closer. “Whatever are you doing here? How did you get here?”

Caspian glanced between Lucinda and Alaya with a smile. As they stood side by side he recognized both Amada and himself in them. “Your daughter rescued me from a war prison tonight,” he answered. “She’s quite an extraordinary young woman.”

“War prison?” Lucinda queried. “But Father, you’ve been gone thirty years. Aslan said he sent you onward to your destiny. What kind of destiny did he send you to if you were in prison?”

Caspian half shrugged, feeling the weight of his decision falling on his shoulders. How would one explain to one’s daughter that he left the long and happy life he had once had behind to chase the girl he had let escape? “I was needed elsewhere for a time,” he answered. “In a place that I will need to return to soon.” He beamed at her, taking in how she had grown and matured. “But not right away, of course. Perhaps we can catch up, my dear.”

* * *

 

They sat around a large oak table with steaming cups of tea in their hands. Caspian had been listening to Petre and his eldest son Wilhelm speak of politics while Alaya and the rotund younger woman who had accompanied Lucinda; her sister, Ramona, played a game that involved round stones and counting. Lucinda herself sat silently across the table watching as Caspian took everything in. He had been away so long in their years but only a few months had passed to him. How must it feel to look across the table and see a man you hardly knew. He had been married young, yes, but he and Amada did not have children until they were into their third decade. Petre had been first, then Lucinda when Petre had turned five years. Renna had been born when Petre was eleven and Lucinda was six; then finally Helena when Renna was in the year of her sixth birthday. He could only imagine what the woman was thinking, having never known the man sitting before her.

“Father?” she interrupted as Petre began another monologue about the state of affairs after thirty years of Caspian’s absence. He turned to her, his knee protesting against the angle he placed it in. “Where have you been? And why have you changed?”

He bowed his head as he searched for the right words. From the corner of his eye he saw Petre do the same. With a fleeting moment of sadness he realized that his eldest son must have had some idea as to where he had gone; if not when it first happened then definitely when he had returned at this age. He had kept it from his siblings all these years to reduce the melancholy that he knew that they would feel at the knowledge that he had given them up for a second chance with another woman.

With a sigh, Caspian squared his shoulders and looked up at Lucinda. “Aslan granted me a second chance with a choice I made many years ago. I could not pass it up,” he answered softly. “I have spent the last few months in the Otherside, with the Pevensies.”

Lucinda gasped involuntarily. It was just a quick inhalation, but it was enough to make Caspian’s heart race a bit faster. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Aslan sent you back in time?”

“In a way,” he answered. “I was given my youth back to match the time when Susan remembered me. Only a few weeks had passed for her when years had passed for us.” He paused as he watching her process this new information. “You must hate me for leaving you,” he continued. “And I am truly sorry. I’ve thought of you often; imagining how this world would have carried on without me. You’ve done a splendid job.” He glanced to Petre. “You have ruled well in my place, my son.” The man bowed his head to the praise but did not speak.

The silence was interrupted as the door slammed open and Helena came rushing in. She stopped dead when she saw Caspian at the table. “Oh!” she exclaimed, her face lighting up. “Oh, it is true!” She rushed at him. “Father! You’ve returned!” Caspian rose to embrace her and was instantly overcome with her warm affection. She had always been his most affectionate child, from the time she was born she loved to be held and bounced. Now she had grown into a warm young woman.

“Hello, my sweet,” he said laughingly as he embraced her. “I see the years have not changed you a bit! Still as bubbly as ever!” She giggled at him. It was then that he noticed Renna behind Helena, as quiet as a church mouse. “Renna, darling!” Caspian called, motioning her forward. The woman came forward to embrace him, though she was a bit more somber than Helena. Caspian squeezed her tight, holding her close. She had always been his sweetest child, always running to him with injured animals or refusing to eat meat for lengths of time. When she was little she reminded him so of Lucy, with her unending kindness and her pacifist views on life.

“Father,” she said haltingly as she took him in. “You’re so young!”

“Yes, well, we were just discussing that,” Caspian continued, a grimace gracing his face. He gestured back to the table. “Join us?”

As soon as Renna and Helena had found seats at the table the latter of the two spoke. “So, Father, what brings you here now?”

Alaya shared a smile with him, her eyes dancing under a heavy fringe of hair. “Alaya brought me here, saving me from a war prison. I was injured and captured on a beach in a place called Normandy,” he answered.

“Do you miss Susan?” Renna asked, her voice soft.

Caspian’s eyes widened at her. “How do you know about Susan?” he choked.

* * *

 

She had taken a few days off from the hospital to recover from the ordeal. In reality she spent her days in the City Centre, watching the soldiers come and go. Sometimes they moved in groups of comrades, sometimes they strolled with lovers, hand in hand. She did not know which one pained her the most of the two, seeing them laughing and happy or quiet and in love.

Peter had returned to work at the rations market and Lucy had returned to her incessant book reading. Edmund had vanished into his own mysterious plans, and frankly the others did not question him. They were growing apart and yet growing together, all in their own pace, Susan noticed. But ever since that telegram she had distanced herself from them. She did not know what she felt yet.

Did she believe that Caspian was still alive? Well, yes, she had to. Did she believe that he would return to her? Again, yes, because she had to. Did she believe that it would be soon? Well, that was different. He would return, yes. But would he return as the same man that left? War in Narnia was different than war here. If a man was felled in battle with a sword and a shield it was because the man that killed him was a more skilled warrior. If a man was felled on a battlefield in Normandy, it was because he was standing in the wrong place when the shell hit. This was not a discerning war. Caspian’s war strategy and military training would not help him to take the victory. This war was pure, dumb luck.

This is what she pondered day after day in the park. She would sometimes be joined by an older woman who did not speak a word, simply sat there in silence. She would sometimes bring her knitting along with her, but more often than not she would just sit there and watch the people stroll by. Susan began to think up a story for her, since she would not intrude upon the woman to ask. She had long dark hair that was pulled back in a loose bun. She wore no rouge or lipstain, which was not uncommon in this time of war. Her clothes were of a fine make, though they seemed a bit out of fashion; that did not seem to fit together.

But it was today that Susan spoke to her for the first time. It had rained the night before and the water seemed to have washed away the very smoke from the air. Once the woman had sat down Susan commented on the lovely blue sky.

“Yes,” the woman answered, “It is a magnificent shade of blue, isn’t it? It reminds me of the ocean on a warm summer day.” Susan nodded, thinking back to how the sun reflected off the ocean from the balcony of Cair Paravel. “I see you here often, honey,” the woman continued. “What brings you out here each day? Surely it’s not the fresh air.”

Susan shook her head, averting her eyes from a young couple that had stopped to whisper a few yards from them. “No,” she answered softly. “I just like to get out of the house, away from the questions. My mother has taken to sighing recently, almost every time I enter a room.”

“I see,” the woman said. “Do you have a fellow in the army, then?” Susan nodded. “And I suppose you think he was a part of that raid in Normandy?”

“He was. A telegram confirmed it.”

The woman nodded, she could not have possibly been older than Susan’s own mother though there was something protective about her. She had friendly blue eyes and crinkles around her mouth that told Susan that she loved to smile. She was not smiling now though, but her eyes danced. “I wouldn’t worry too much about him, missy. I’m sure he’ll return to you soon.” She glanced back up at the sky and nodded once. “Well, that’s it for me today. Perhaps I’ll see you another day, though I doubt very much that we’ll run into each other once your fellow returns from the war effort. No doubt going missing will grant him a ticket home once he’s found.”

“You’re so optimistic,” Susan said in a hushed tone.

The woman nodded once again and rose to her feet. “Yes well, it is my job,” she answered cryptically. “Farewell, dear. Don’t stay out to long. You never know when word may come to the house that your man is well and safe.”

Susan watched as the woman started to walk away. Before she got too far, Susan called out, “Ma’am? What was your name? I never caught it!”

The woman turned back, a smile on her lips, and called, “You can call me Miss Renna.”


	6. The Leap of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aslan is disappointed and Susan is shocked.

Dawn could not have come soon enough for Susan as she practically vibrated in the kitchen. She had been up since four a.m., making herself tea after tea; in actuality she should have floated away, but she was too excited. After her discussion with Miss Renna, she had decided to return to the hospital and to the American soldier that healed in its rooms. She could barely contain herself as she scrawled a letter to her mother and left it on the counter where she would surely see it.

With a glance at the clock on the mantle, Susan threw her raincoat and Wellingtons on before heading out the door and into the morning. It was barely six a.m. yet and the streets were vacant but for the men and women heading to work. Washer women and secretaries alike strolled the streets to the Underground, one gentleman in a tall hat nodded briefly to Susan and stepped aside to allow her to go before him into the station.

The train was quiet, everyone kept mostly to themselves. The early hour lent to the silence, drawing it out until it reached Susan’s stop. She climbed from the train and moved up to the street level. The hospital was not far from her house, but this early in the morning the Underground was a faster route. She emerged on the street and immediately moved up to the makeshift hospital.

Stepping through the door she was greeted by a gaggle of nurses, their skirts and tights crisp for the promising new morning. “Susan!” Jocelyn exclaimed. “It’s good to see you back! Are you all right?”

“Yes,” the young woman answered. “How are things here? Everything still quiet?”

Samantha nodded next to Jocelyn, her blonde head bobbing like a boat. “Two-oh-four was asking for you, Susan,” she said, arching a fair eyebrow. “A few different times, actually.”

She nodded once, shedding her coat and Wellingtons. “Is he awake now?” Susan asked, disappeared for a moment to hang her coat. When she emerged the girls were nodding. “Good, I’ll go check him.” She was halfway up the stairs when she heard the whispering below her. Instinctively she knew that there would be rumors floating around, but she had not guessed it would begin so innocently. She could only imagine what they were saying. _Caspian, reported missing only a few days and she has already gone and stolen another heart; one that belongs to another._

As she pushed through the door to two-oh-four, she pushed those thoughts aside. There was something far more important for her to be doing. “Hello, Mr. Barker,” she said, her smile in place. “How are you feeling today?”

“Miss Pevensie!” Ton exclaimed. “The other ladies said that you were out sick, I hope all is well.”

Susan nodded, sliding into the chair beside the bed. “Yes, of course,” she answered, not very convincingly. Ton’s eyes narrowed.

“You are a terrible liar, Miss Pevensie.”

With a chuckle, Susan glanced away. “You shouldn’t have to listen to my problems, Mr. Barker.”

“It’s Ton, ma’am. And lets face it,” he gestured to the flat blanket where his feet should have been. “I haven’t got much else to do, now do I?” Susan shrugged. “Now, tell me what’s happened. Is it Tennyson? Did you get word from him?”

Susan nodded once more, tears filling her eyes. “He’s gone missing, Mr. Barker.”

“Oh, Miss Pevensie,” Ton whispered. “I’m so sorry.” She nodded and they fell silent for a long while; Susan struggling to keep her tears at bay and Ton trying to come up with something to say that would soothe her.

Before he could come up with anything, Susan was wiping her eyes and smiling at him. “Enough of that!” she exclaimed as she rubbed her hands together and glanced around the room. “What have you been doing to entertain yourself?” she asked, her eyes falling on some books. “What are these?”

“Miss Kingsley brought them in for me,” he answered. “I had never read them before.” Susan picked up the first book, _Pride and Prejudice_ , _Persuasion_ and _Jane Eyre_. “Have you read them?”

Susan lifted up _Persuasion_ and leafed through it, nodding. “Do you believe that two people, who have been apart for so long and changed so much, could love each other again?” Ton asked, and when Susan looked to him he was staring down at his legs.

Placing the book on the table, she nodded and took his hand. “I do,” she whispered. “If you only knew the things that the human heart could survive for love. Even when it is truly broken, it remains able to love again. When I left Caspian, I was sure that it was over. My heart shattered into pieces. But he managed to come back to me, even then, when all hope seemed lost. He knew something that I didn’t. He knew that no matter what happened in our lives, there was always that second chance for true love.” She patted his hand, her eyes soft. “Sara will always love you, Ton. Always. She may have a hard time coping with what has happened to you, but it will be a small price to pay to have you back in her life.”

When Ton finally looked back at her he had tears in his eyes. “Thank you, Susan. For everything.” Susan nodded as she moved toward the door.

“Get some rest, Mr. Barker,” she said as she stepped to the door. “Do yourself and your Sara a favor and relax.” Ton nodded at her as she vanished from the room.

Downstairs the nurses bustled around, carrying trays of instruments and sipping tea and talking. When Susan descended the stairs a fair few of the girls fell silent. Finally, Jocelyn came across the room. “How’s Mr. Barker?” she asked, softly, her hand brushing Susan’s sleeve.

 Susan shrugged away from her and rounded on the room. “I know what you’re all thinking,” she began. “You’re thinking that since Caspian has gone to war that I have turned my gaze to Mr. Barker. Well, you couldn’t be further from the truth. Caspian has gone missing in Normandy, and Mr. Barker may have been among the last people to see him alive. So it would do you all well to stop gossiping and do your bloody jobs!” With that she turned and crossed to the back room, slamming open the swinging doors and stomping in to fall onto the couch.

It was silent in the room for about a minute before the door pushed open and Jocelyn slid in. She was probably the closest thing Susan had to a true friend, other than Lucy, but they were still not horribly close. Jocelyn slid onto the couch beside her and reached for Susan’s hand. “Are you all right?” Jocelyn whispered. Susan nodded, but did not look at her friend. “We had no idea about Caspian, Sue. I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Susan replied softly. “He’ll either return or he won’t. It’s out of my hands.” She shrugged, half heartedly squeezing Jocelyn’s hand before taking hers back. “Excuse me, Jocelyn. I need to make my rounds.” Jocelyn nodded and let Susan slip out, leaving the room cold and quiet once more.

* * *

 

She worked a full day and found her way back to the park bench by dusk. Sitting where she had left her the night before was Miss Renna. Her black hair was pulled back from her face in another bun, but her dress was a lovely red worsted wool. Susan crossed the grass and slid into the seat beside her. “Good evening, Miss Renna,” she greeted

“Good evening, my dear,” Renna replied. They sat in silence, the only sounds coming from the couples and groups moving around them. Finally, Renna turned to her and continued, “Any word from your man, dear?” Susan shook her head, keeping her eyes averted. “Well, never you mind. I’m sure he’ll make it back to you soon.”

Again the silence hung in the air like a fog until Susan spoke again. “Miss Renna, forgive the brusqueness of my question, but are you married?” Renna nodded, looking away. “And is he in the war?”

“No,” Renna answered, shaking her head sadly. “We were only wed for a few years when he was taken from me, but I feel his loss every moment of the day.” The older woman reached over and patted Susan’s hand. “I felt that loss because I had to, because I was not as strong as those around me. I am the weaker of my family, my dear, and because of that I felt the pain ten times worse. I can tell that this is not the same for you; you’re brave. Far braver than I ever was.” Susan finally turned to look at the woman. “But that was another time, another place. A lifetime ago, sometimes it seems.” In the slant of light Renna’s profile looked so familiar that Susan’s heart raced faster. When she cut her eyes to the younger woman, the blue depths were mirror images of another’s eyes.

“Miss Renna,” Susan whispered. “Where are you from?”

Renna glanced around. “I don’t catch your meaning, my dear,” she answered, clearing her throat nervously.

“Your birthplace, is it London?”

Again, Renna cleared her throat and glanced away. “Why does that matter, my dear?”

“You remind me of someone I know, someone that means a great deal to me.”

“I should go, my dear,” the older woman offered as a reply. “It grows dark. Best to be home before nightfall.” With that, the woman pushed off from the bench and wandered toward the center of the park. Before she got too far she turned back and called, “Have faith, my dear. Aslan is everywhere.” With that, she turned and walked directly into the empty space between two trees and vanished, leaving Susan gasping for breath on the bench in the dark.

* * *

 

Caspian lay on his bed in the dark. His chambers had been re-opened and aired out for him, but they felt foreign. He had been awake most of the night, pacing like a caged animal. Finally he slipped out of the rooms and made his way down the hallway, past the murals of the final battles and onto the balcony of Cair Paravel. The moonlight seemed particularly silver in Narnia that night, glinting off the waves and flickering like firelight.

“It’s awe-inspiring,” came a deep voice from behind him.

Caspian did not have to turn to know who had spoken. He let out a sigh of relief as he spoke. “I was hoping you would come,” he said as the lion came up beside him.

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment before Aslan continued. “You’ve found your way back, my king,” he said softly. “And Narnia welcomed you with open arms.”

“Why am I here, Lion?” Caspian whispered. “Have you pulled me back so many years later to serve some greater purpose?”

Beside him the giant lion sighed, his body heat warming the balcony. “You did not take the path I chose for you, Caspian,” he answered. “You returned to war. You left Susan behind.”

Caspian felt the words sinking through his skin like vapor. “I thought that it would be the only way to protect her,” he finally answered, though his voice cracked as he spoke. “I thought it’s what you wanted from me.”

Beside him, Aslan shook his mighty head. “You see only the surface of what you have done, Caspian. You stop looking for answers once you have found the simplest of solutions. But true answers must be found by delving deeply. Susan does not need your protection in this awful war they fight. She needs you beside her in her day to day activities; to lend her strength as she makes her choices. You have lived a whole life, with family and children and much happiness. Susan has not yet completed a whole life; she has many decisions to make. I sent you there to assist her with those. And you chose to leave her.”

Now dread filled Caspian as he realized what Aslan was saying. He had squandered his second chance; that’s why he was back in Narnia. “Noble Lion,” he began, his voice a whisper. “I didn’t understand the task at hand. Please don’t punish me for my misconceptions.”

“I’ll not punish you,” Aslan replied. “But it will not be as simple this time to return to Susan. I’ll replace you in Normandy, on the friendly side of the lines. It is up to you to return to her. This will be the last time that I assist you, Caspian. Any choices you make from this point on will be yours to live with.” Caspian nodded, his eyes dancing under heavy lids. “You will have one night here. Meet me at dawn in the courtyard.”

 Caspian spent his evening visiting his ghosts. He trekked down through the hallways, stopping to view the murals on the walls. He paused before the mural of Susan standing to face down the Telemarines in the forest and reached out to brush his hand along the face of the girl in the painting. She looked so peaceful with that arrow grasped in her hand, concentrating on the unseen man in the mural. This was the woman he would return to at dawn, in a manner of speaking. He would be returned to Normandy, which was fine. He had gone missing in battle, escaped a war prison, surely he had been reported missing or dead. For a moment he thought of her receiving that telegram, but forced himself to stop. No good would come of his thoughts if he traveled that path. He would return to her, and this time he would never leave her side.

* * *

 

Dawn came swiftly and he left his bed before the first fingers of sunlight crept from the east. He moved silently down the long halls, noticing for the first time how little they had really changed from his youth. He had aged and grown old but Cair Paravel had not. Now he was back in his late teens and it looked and felt the same as it always had. No one stirred in the great house as he moved down the steps into the courtyard high on a cliff overlooking the shoreline. There sat the massive lion, his face turned up as the sun first broke over the sea.

Caspian came to a stop beside him, only inches from the great mane of the beast. The lion waited until the sun had crested completely over the sea before the first rumbles of speech erupted. “Caspian,” he began. “It was easy to return to Susan the first time. I paved the way for you and you refused to follow the path. This time the path will not be stone and mortar, but instead roughshod and winding. It is a test, young man, a test of your will. I will no longer protect you. You will have three choices to make once you return to Normandy that will get you back to Susan safely. Choose wisely.”

“Yes, Lion,” he whispered. “How will I return?”

Aslan shifted his tawny gaze to the man beside him. “It begins where all true love stories begin. With a leap of faith.”

Caspian held his gaze for a moment before turning to the sun rising higher in the sky out over the sea. Then, without another word or a backwards glance, he stepped up to the edge of the courtyard on the cliff and jumped.


	7. The Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a first test and Susan mends a heart.

“Sue?” Lucy asked, coming around the corner into the parlor. Susan was asleep in the window seat, a book on her lap. As Lucy stepped closer the elder girl jerked away with a cry. “Sue!” Lucy exclaimed, rushing forward. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Susan choked out, steadying herself against the window. “Yes. I just had one of those falling dreams, you know?” Lucy nodded as she slid into seat beside her. “Actually, I’m glad you’ve found me. The strangest thing happened in the park today.” She recounted the tale of Miss Renna and her mention of Aslan then abrupt vanishing from the middle of the park. “Do you think?” She did not finish her sentence.

Lucy reached out and brushed her hand down Susan’s arm. “I think that all things are possible, Susan. I don’t know why she’s here, but it’s obvious who is sending her.” Susan nodded, her gaze shifting to the rain soaked world outside. “If you happen to run into her again, I think it is best if you ask her no questions. She will offer information as she would like.”

“You’re right,” Susan sighed, tracing a water droplet with her finger. “It’s just so difficult. He’s missing and I am powerless to stop it. It’s happening again. The boys are running off to war and I am forced to watch as they throw themselves to the wolves.”

“They are warriors,” Lucy whispered. “Born in the heat of battle. They will never lay down their weapons until peace can be found. You know this.”

“I do,” Susan whispered. “But it doesn’t stop the desire to change it.”

Lucy leaned into Susan as the elder sister wrapped her arms around her and pulled her close. They sat together until Helen called for dinner.

* * *

 

 

He hit the hard packed dirt with such velocity that it knocked the wind from him. He was wearing his worsted wool uniform again, bloody and banged up, hair falling in his eyes and his leg burned from his original injury. Lanterns bobbed precariously in the distance from the corner of his eye. He rolled onto his stomach and shimmied under a brush to the side of the pathway that he had dropped on. His leg burned with every movement.

“I swear I heard something,” a British voice said as the lanterns got closer to him.

A French accent responded, “Perhaps you are going mad, Jameson.”

 _Jameson_ , Caspian thought, bolting upright. “Jameson!” he growled, crawling forward in the dirt. He emerged into the pool of lantern light. “Jameson!” The man turned from where they strolled only a few feet in front of his hiding spot.

 “Tennyson!” Jameson exclaimed. “My god, man, we thought you were dead!” He rushed over to help him out. “Did you crawl all the way here from the front lines? Look at your leg! It’s been two weeks, man! How have you managed out here all by yourself?” Caspian accepted his help to limp back in the direction they had come from.

“I don’t really know. It’s all a blur,” Caspian answered softly, hobbling between the two soldiers. “I was in some war prison, but a girl helped me escape. I don’t know how long ago.” The lights of a camp came into view. “Two weeks since the beach?” Caspian asked softly. Jameson nodded. “I’ve been reported then, huh?”

“Yeah, Tennyson,” Jameson whispered. “Sorry, man.”

“It’s all right,” Caspian whispered, his eyes misting. He fought back the tears as he thought of that envelope being delivered to Susan and hoped that Gloster had managed to get to her first. “I only hope I haven’t broken her heart.”

As the three of them made their way into camp, Caspian felt the familiar pain radiating from his leg. He had thought it healed, but it seemed that when Aslan returned him to this world he returned him with the reminder of his task. To avoid more injury and return to London. Return to her. He hobbled along as Jameson prattled on about the coarseness of the rations being airdropped on them more and more infrequently. He listened but he did not care.

The lights of the camp came into view and for a moment Caspian was transported to another war camp, another world away. The way the lanterns bobbed in the breeze reminded him of torches lining the wall of the Stone Table hideaways. He remembered the way she looked as he tried to hand her the horn once more, the smirk on her face as she had spoken those words that made his heart leap into his throat. _Keep it. You may have to call me again._ When he made it back to her he would never leave her side again.

A murmur rose from the first campfire they passed. One man stood up and squinted into the shadows. “Jameson,” he called. “Who’s that?”

“Tennyson!” Jameson yelled over his shoulder as he and the French soldier pushed on toward what Caspian assumed was the medical tent. “Found him on the path around the bend. Escaped a war prison! Crawled all the way here!” Men began to converge, speaking rapidly as they descended. They asked questions as they followed the trio, some pushing others out of the way to clear a path to the medical tent.

They reached the flap and one of the men pushed it open, Caspian faintly recognized him as one of the new troops to join for the beach raid. He was staring openly at him, hope radiant in his gaze. The boy turned away, but not before Caspian noticed his look shift to a locket he held in his open palm.

The growl came on the wind. _You have passed the first test, my King. To inspire hope in others._ He felt the smile on his lips as Jameson and the unnamed French soldier deposited him on a cot as the medic came over to look. As he approached his eyes got wide in his face. “Tennyson!” he exclaimed. “You were believed dead!”

Caspian grimaced. “I’ve heard,” he grumbled. “I’d like the tools with which to write a letter as soon as possible, please.”

“Of course,” the medic said with a nod. “But first let’s look at that leg.” He waved the onlookers out, turning his attention to the wound. Caspian took the moment to assess the damage himself. He had seen wounds on the battlefield before, he had seen _this_ wound before. Now, in the light of the camp, in the glow of the medical tent, it seemed so much worse. Was it possible that Aslan had put him back with a wound that was worse? As the medic pressed his hands to the inflamed flesh of the ragged edged wound Caspian knew that he would. The pain that shot through his leg expanded in his chest and he passed out flat on the cot.

* * *

 

It was another rainy day in London, the fog had settled in and the chill had not abated. Susan climbed the puddled steps to the hospital and pushed the door open. The lobby was bustling with nurses, most she recognized, some she did not. She paused in the entry, taking in the sight. Jocelyn paused in her movements to meet Susan’s eyes. “Soldiers, Susan,” she whispered. “Dozens of them. Injured in Normandy!” Susan’s eyes alit to the upper floors, where more new nurses moved quickly through the halls.

“Is there a list?”

“Yes,” Jocelyn replied. “There’s no Tennyson, though. I looked.”

Her heart fell a little. “Still,” she began. “Some of them may know what happened to him.”

Jocelyn reached out to grip Susan’s arm. “Be careful with your questions, Susan. You may regret the answers.” Susan held her gaze for a moment before nodding once.

Without another word Susan turned and headed toward the small kitchen, unbuttoning her coat along the way. She exchanged it for an apron and pushed the damp hair from her forehead as she stepped back into the lobby. The nurse behind the desk handed Susan a clipboard with her assignments on it, room two-oh-four was not on the list. She sighed, with all the new patients, it would be unlikely that he would get any attention that day. Maybe on her break she could stop by.

The hours flew by; each moment left her wondering if she could handle more sadness. Each soldier brought the wonder of what had happened to Caspian. These men were not fresh of the front lines, they had been moved from hospital to hospital with wounds that needed attention but not intensive care. Some were like Ton, with missing limbs or patched up bullet wounds. Some were more mentally injured, speaking of gas bombs and watching their comrades get ripped apart by mines. One that Susan inspected in the middle of the morning spoke of barbed wire and watching the young Private next to him get so tangled that he had to shoot him to end his agony. Soon she stopped listening, focusing on maintaining her nurse face and trying not to cry.

She was hours late for her lunch break when it happened. She was just coming off the steps from the second floor, checking off her last patient on her list, when the door opened. In stepped a young woman with blonde hair and freckles. She wore a gray worsted wool coat and black gloves; her coat was worn in several places but it had been patched neatly. Her hair was pulled off her face in a low ponytail and topped with a pretty little gray cap. Her umbrella hung in her hands and Susan could tell she was fighting not to wring them around the handle.

Susan was drawn to her, the look of worry on her face so mirrored her own. This was the relative of a soldier, someone waiting for word. “Hello,” she said softly. “I’m Miss Pevensie.” The blonde nodded. “Can I help you with something?”

“Yes,” she whispered. Susan was startled by the American accent. “I’m looking for someone.”

Susan nodded and offered to take her coat. “And your name?”

“Miss Johns,” she answered, reaching to unbutton the well-loved coat.

The second girl froze in her movements as everything clicked into place. “Miss Sara Johns?” Susan asked as she stepped closer. Sara nodded. “I know who you’re looking for. Come with me.” She reached out and took Sara’s hand, completely unabashedly pulling her up the stairs. “Miss Johns, did you get any correspondence from Mr. Barker during his time with us here at the hospital?”

“No, Miss Pevensie,” Sara responded breathlessly. “I received notice that he was being brought to London for further recuperation. I left immediately. It took me weeks to get here, days to get someone to tell me where he is. We aren’t married yet, you see. We were to be wed when he returned from the war.” She stopped on the first landing and pulled Susan with her. “You’ve seen him, miss?” she asked quietly. Susan nodded slowly. “Is he all right? Why is he still here?”

Susan knew the look that she was receiving. She saw it every day in the mirror. It was this hope, this prayer that he would be returned to her. “Miss Johns, I think that it is best if he tells you what has happened. I won’t take that away from him. But as a girl who has lost her own young man, let me say this. You have two choices when you walk into that room, to love him or to leave him. That’s all. And if you loved him yesterday, you have no choice. You will love him tomorrow.”

“You’re scaring me, Miss Pevensie,” Sara whispered. Susan nodded again and turned to head up the stairs. The second girl followed after a moment. Susan paused at the door to two-oh-four, with all the nurses flying by them it was hard to keep calm. Sara was shaking, Susan could feel the vibrations coming off of her. Susan reached out and turned the door knob.

The man in the bed looked up to meet her gaze. “Miss Pevensie!” he said, a faint smile on his face. “I was wondering if you would get a chance to stop by. I’m still trying to figure out what to write to my Sara,” he continued. The look on her face must have stopped him, for he paused to tilt his head to the side. “What is it, Miss Pevensie? Is it Tennyson?”

“No, Mr. Barker,” she answered, stepping back. “It’s something else entirely.” Sara stepped through the door and Ton inhaled sharply. “You have a visitor.”

“Sara!” he exclaimed, shifting in the bed. The paper on his lap slipped discarded to the floor. “What are you doing here?”

In answer she cried out incoherently and rushed to his side. He opened his arms and let her fling herself into them. Susan stood frozen to the spot, daring to hope that this girl would not shatter the heart of her newfound friend. “Oh, Ton,” Sara sobbed into his shirt. “I’ve been so worried! Why haven’t you written? I feared the worst!”

“Oh, Sara,” Ton whispered into her hair, holding her tightly against him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how to explain.”

“Explain?” she asked, finally pulling away enough to look in his eyes. “Explain what?” Her eyes shifted over her shoulder to where Susan stood, fixed to the spot.

“This,” Ton answered with a gesture to the bottom half of the bed. For the first time since she had walked in Sara pulled her gaze away from his face and took in the rest of him. Susan watched as she registered the flat sheet at the end of the bed. The place where his legs would be. “I’m not a whole man anymore, my love. I’m diminished.”

Susan’s heart raced in her chest as she waited for Sara’s response. The blonde beauty shifted her gaze back up to Ton’s face and lifted a soft hand to his cheek. Without speaking she trailed that hand down his face to his chest. “The measure of a man isn’t in his legs, it’s here,” she whispered. The look in Ton’s eyes softened and Susan suddenly felt unwelcomed. She slipped from the door, closing it softly behind her. Leaving the two of them alone, she managed to get downstairs and into the kitchen before she burst into tears.

She was not alone, but she did not care. She sobbed as though a knife had been lodged in her chest; maybe it had. Through the cacophony of her own cries she heard a few of the new nurses calling for Jocelyn. When the young woman arrived she sank to the floor and slipped her arms around Susan. “It’s all right, love,” she whispered, stroking her hair. “It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right,” Susan sobbed. “Every day is a reminder. Working in this hospital. I know he’s not coming back, and Lucy tells me I have to have faith. That there’s always hope. But there isn’t, is there? These men tell these horrific stories of mutilation and death. He’s dead. I’ve lost him again. This is my punishment for letting him leave. He’s gone. He’s been taken. We’ve failed the test. I’ve lost my faith.”

“Susan,” Jocelyn whispered, still stroking her hair. “Life isn’t a test. Sometimes it’s hard, yes. But it isn’t a test. You can’t lose hope, you have to stay strong.”

“I can’t,” Susan whimpered.

“You can,” Jocelyn continued. “I’ve heard stories of you, Susan Pevensie. How good you are with a bow and arrow, how well you shoot. People speak of you as though you are a queen.” Susan heart raced against her chest as Jocelyn’s words sank in. Then she heard it, crackling from the fire in the hearth. It was more growled than spoken, but she understood it. _Once a queen of Narnia, always a queen of Narnia. Faith cannot be lost, it can only weaken._ She inhaled sharply as his words washed over her. No one else seemed to hear it.

“You’re right,” she whispered. “There’s always faith.” Jocelyn’s grip on her lessened and the two girls broke apart. Sometime in the melee the room had emptied of people, leaving them alone. “Do you think you can get by without me for a little while? I’m going to make some tea and relax.”

“Sure,” the older nurse answered. “You’re late for your break anyway. You stay here. I’ll cover you.”

“Ok.”

Alone at last, Susan sank onto the couch and stared into the flames. She did not know how long she sat there, or how long her break could be. It was not until the door opened and Sara Johns stepped in that Susan realized he had been sitting here for a long while.

“Miss Pevensie,” Sara said softly as she moved into the room. “Pardon the interruption. Miss Kingsley said you were in here. Do you mind if I speak to you for a moment?”

“Not at all,” Susan replied, gesturing to the table before them. She rose to her feet and straightened her uniform. “What can I do for you, Miss Johns?”

The girl before her did not sit, she reached out and pulled Susan into an embrace. “You’ve already done so much for me, Miss Pevensie. So much. I can’t thank you enough, really.” Susan awkwardly hugged the girl back, feeling the tears bubble back up. “Ton tells me that your man is lost in Normandy. I’m very sorry. I can understand how you feel.” Susan nodded, holding onto her as though she were a life raft in a storm. “I’m staying until Ton is well enough to travel home, I don’t know where yet,” Sara said, finally stepping back. “I suppose it may be a few weeks, so I may have to find some sort of temporary work.” She chuckled under her breath as though at the absurdity of it. “I’m so far from home, a farm girl from Iowa really. I don’t know the first thing about London. Do ya’ll have boardinghouses here?”

“Boardinghouses?” Susan questioned. “Of course, yes. But you won’t be staying in one, Miss Johns. You’re to come home with me. My mother wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse any typos, feel free to mention corrections to spelling or punctuation. I am without a beta. Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	8. The Second Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a second test, a request for pen and paper, a friendship forged.

When Caspian came to he was in a dim tent with only a low light to keep him company. His body ached as though he had survived a run-in with a trebuchet and when he tried to move his leg it shot pain straight through his spine. It was enough to make him bite his tongue to keep from screaming. The flap pushed open and the doctor stepped in. “Try not to move, Private,” he said as he came in and turned up the lamp. “Your wound was infected. It’s been cleaned now, of course, but it’s going to be tender for the next few weeks.”

“Doctor,” Caspian said, pushing himself up on his elbows. “I’d really like that paper and pen now.”

“Of course,” the medic replied. “Let me just look at that leg of yours quickly and I’ll have someone deliver it when I’m done.” Caspian nodded and leaned back against the flat pillow once more as the man pulled off his sheet and the field dressing that had been applied to the wound. Caspian held his breath as the poking began. He was used to wounds; he had managed to get in a few scrapes during his life in Narnia. He had seen men die of infection, legs have to be removed. He himself had sawed through the leg of a centaur to keep him alive. He knew how bad wounds could be. Nothing had prepared him for a bullet wound. A sword, no matter how sharp, cleaved. It sliced open the tendons and muscles and skin. The impact on the surrounding flesh was minimal. A bullet wound was incredibly damaging to the tissue. It tore instead of sliced.

“I will admit, it seems much better now that it’s clean,” the doctor was saying as he poked and prodded. “But I’d like to stitch it now that I know the infection is gone.” Caspian’s head shot up at this.

“It wasn’t stitched while I was out?” he demanded. “I thought that was standard procedure!”

“If it had still been infected and I had stitched it, then it’s possible you would have lost the leg,” the doctor continued. “I’m going to have to knock you out, though.”

He let out a sigh of relief as he realized that he had been afraid the medic was just going to start stitching away. “Ok,” he answered softly. The medic doused a cotton rag in liquid and held it securely over Caspian’s mouth and nose. After a moment of inhalation, the man felt consciousness slipping away from him and the world went dark. 

* * *

 

Two women climbed the stairs of the townhome and Susan pushed open the door to the mudroom. The inner door was propped open and the boys’ umbrellas dripped steadily on the tile floor. “Mother?” Susan called as she and Sara hung their own coats and umbrellas alongside the others. “Mother!” she called again before she heard a soft call from the kitchen. She gestured for Sara to follow her. As they entered Helen was pulling a roast from the oven. “Hello, Mother,” Susan greeted. The older woman turned to smile at her daughter and when she saw Sara her smile widened.

“Hello, love. Who’s this?” Helen asked as she set down the roast and wiped her hands on her apron.

Susan smiled in return and glanced to her guest. “This is Miss Sara Johns, Mother. Her young man has been a patient of mine at the hospital for the last few weeks or so,” she began.

“Oh!” Helen exclaimed as she came forward to shake Sara’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Same to you, Mrs. Pevensie,” Sara answered.

Susan watched her mother startle at the girl’s accent. “Sara is from America, Mother. She traveled all this way to find Mr. Barker and take him home. Unfortunately he’s not able to be released for a few more weeks, and even then I don’t know if he’ll be up for the journey. She asked about boardinghouses.”

“Nonsense!” Helen exclaimed. “You’ll stay here with us until your young man can travel. I’m sure Susan and Lucy would enjoy the chance to show you around London this summer.”

Susan beamed at Sara, winking in her direction. “That’s what I thought you might say,” she responded. “I’ll go get the guest room straightened. Sara, why don’t you sit down. I’m sure Mother wouldn’t mind making you some tea.”

“Tea would be lovely,” Sara said. “And I don’t mind helping with dinner if you need a hand.”

“I can always use an extra hand in the kitchen, my dear.” Sara brightened, happy for something to do. “Are you familiar with a wood burning stove?”

Susan vanished from the room as Sara began regaling Helen with tales of her own wood-burning kitchen at home in Iowa. On her way up the stairs she heard movement above her. Peter appeared at the top of the stairs, his suspenders hanging from his waist and his hair tousled as though he had been running his hand through it. “Sue,” he greeted. “I thought that was you. How are you?”

She shrugged as she completed her climb. “Well enough I suppose. How was work?” Peter had gotten a job at the rations office, handing out ration tickets to the masses. He groaned. “Not uplifting?”

“Not even in the slightest,” he answered, following her along the corridor. She paused at the closet in the hall and withdrew a set of sheets and pillow cases. “What are you doing?” he asked finally, confused.

She stopped at the guest room door and waited for him. When he stared at her she frowned. “Would you mind getting the door for me, Peter?” she asked finally. Surprised, he turned the knob and pushed the door open for her to step in. He followed her. “A young woman is staying with us for a few weeks while her fiancé recuperates in the hospital. She’s American and has nowhere else to go.”

“You’re turning into Lucy, Sue,” Peter laughed as he went around the far side of the bed to help her. “Toss me that corner.” She did as he asked and they began making the bed. “How’s the dreams?” he asked after a moment. She stopped in her tracks and stared at him. “I hear you at night, tossing and turning. Sometimes you sob his name.”

“I see him. In the field in front of the Stone Table. He’s so far away. Sometimes he’s in a ditch in the dark, bleeding. Sometimes he’s in a medical tent, surrounded by instruments. Sometimes he’s an old man standing on a balcony, overlooking the ocean.” She turned her attention back to the bed. “I can never reach him or speak to him. He’s always there, just out of reach.”

Peter said nothing as they pulled the duvet back over the bed, but he came around and slung his arm around her shoulders in support. She smiled up at him, her blue eyes sad but her smile true. “Come on, Sue,” he whispered. “Let’s go meet this friend of yours.”

* * *

 

When Caspian came to again the lights were brighter and he was not alone. The young man that he had held the gaze of the night he returned was sitting on a stool near him. When Caspian stirred the boy jumped in his seat. “Sir!” he exclaimed. When Caspian flinched at the noise he added _sorry_ at a much softer volume. “How are you feeling?”

“Thirsty,” Caspian managed to choke out. The boy scrambled from his position and rushed over to pour a glass of water. He practically jumped back to Caspian’s side and leaned in to help him sit up. After a few gulps of the tepid water Caspian nodded and the boy set it down on the table beside him. “Thanks.”

“Of course, sir!” the boy saluted.

“I’m just a Private, son, no need to salute.”

“No sir, you’re a Lance Corporal, sir. Anyone who survived the beach has been promoted.”

Caspian blinked at him as he sat up, taking that in. “How many of us survived?” he whispered, finally able to ask.

The boy frowned and looked away. “Less than twenty in our regiment, sir. I came in on the latest drop. We’re back to one hundred strong, then the French add another two hundred in this camp.”

Caspian’s eyes darkened. “Do you know of Owens? Private James Owens?”

“Private Owens perished on the beach, Lance Corporal,” the boy whispered, clearly not wanting to play this game.

“And Rogers?”

“Him as well.”

Caspian named man after man, going through the list of privates that sat around the campfires with him only weeks ago. Some were injured, most were dead and gone; left on the beach where they had fallen. Finally closing his eyes, Caspian willed himself back to the sand and saw his last few moments before he was hit. There had been a mine to his left, something far enough away that he had not been hit but close enough that he fell to the ground. He heard the scream, saw the face of the man bleeding on the sand. The name bubbled up. “Private Barker?”

“Anton Barker?” the boy asked. Caspian nodded, feeling his heart sink. “He was sent back to London, sir. Lost both his legs to a mine. The medics were able to get to him on time.” Caspian let out a sigh of relief. He had been the one that Caspian had most related to. He spoke often of his young lady, bringing Susan to the forefront of Caspian’s mind every moment that they spoke. He had hoped that the boy would make it back to his Sara.

Caspian pushed the blankets from him, exposing his legs. He was wearing black shorts and around his upper thigh was a stark white bandage. It ached when he moved but it felt good to stretch. “Where’s the doctor?” he asked finally, looking around. “Shouldn’t he be coming in to check his patient?”

“There was an influx of wounded soldiers, sir,” the boy said. “Enemy fire when we went for a supply drop. Got most of the food, sir, and a few soldiers.” Caspian looked around his small tent in askance. “They’re set up in the main tent. This is just for recovery, not trauma.” Caspian reached for the water glass once more. As he sipped, the boy rose to his feet and pushed open the flap to peer out. “Sir,” he began again. “The men that know you have told me that you tell the most fantastical stories of talking animals and raiding castles with the use of giant eagles.” When he turned back Caspian saw a familiar look in his eyes. “Sir, will you tell me a story? Something to take me away from the things I’ve seen in the last few weeks?”

He smiled and patted the seat beside his bed. “Come here, son,” he began. “Have a seat and I shall tell you a tale of the Queens and Kings of Narnia.” The boy crossed back over and plopped down in his seat, a spark of something in his eyes.

* * *

 

Dinner at the Pevensie home was a boisterous affair. Clive could not prevent himself from asking Sara far too many questions about America. She was more than willing to answer all of them. Edmund got involved, asking all sorts of questions about the voyage over. He had been enthralled in boats since Peter had given him the naval fleet of Narnia. Sara answered all the questions to the best of her ability and when she could not, Helen would scold him for asking so many questions. It would chastise him for a few minutes before she said something else that reminded him of another question and he was off again.

It was after dinner that the girls finally escaped the house and Susan had a chance to show Sara around parts of London. They took the Underground to City Centre and strolled through the park there. Susan pointed out the building where the films played, the square of concrete where they held impromptu dances and when they reached a bench in the center of the park, Susan paused. There she was, sitting on the bench, a book in her hand. Her raven hair was pinned back with tendrils rolling down her cheeks. She was reading, but when Susan stopped her eyes shifted up.

“Sara,” Susan said abruptly. “Excuse me a moment?” Sara nodded, stepping away and giving Susan the space to stroll toward the bench and the woman. Susan approached slowly, holding her gaze. “Miss Renna,” she said as she approached.

“Hello, Susan. Who is your friend?” Renna greeted, her eyes falling to the girl looking around the park with wide eyes.

 She glanced over her shoulder at her before turning back. “Her name is Sara,” Susan began. “She’s the fiancée of one of my patients, a friend. She’s here until he recovers, so she is staying with my family.” She had no idea why she was telling this woman her life’s story. Finally she just blurted out what was on her mind. “Miss Renna, last we spoke-”

A hand snapped up to stop Susan’s speech. “You’re going to ask me about Aslan, I know. But I can’t tell you anything. Just know that he is watching, and he has a plan.” She leaned again to look in Sara’s direction. “Well, you have a new friend to show around and I must be going. This will be the last time we meet, Susan. Just remember, have some faith.” She snapped her book closed and rose to her feet. Susan watched the woman walk away, losing herself in the moderate crowds at the end of the park. From this distance Susan could not tell, but it seemed the woman vanished into thin air again.

She returned to Sara, her eyes dancing from her interaction. Sara offered her arm and Susan laced hers through it. They continued on through the park, speaking of frivolous things like films and fashion. Finally as they returned to the Underground Sara turned to Susan and said, “Thank you for your hospitality, friend. I do believe I can survive these weeks until Ton is better. I would not have thought that had I not met you today.”

“It is my pleasure, Sara, to meet such a kindred spirit,” Susan answered. “Now, I have it on good authority that Mother was making a lemon cake when we left. So we should hurry up, before the boys eat it all!” The two women giggled as they raced down the stairs like the school girls that they were.

* * *

 

The boy had listened raptly to the story as it unfolded, supplying Caspian with water upon request, until the end. When Caspian finally trailed off the boy leaned forward once more. “Whatever happened to Queen Susan and the other Pevensies? Did they return home to London?”

“Yes,” Caspian said. “And at the end of his life the young prince recalled with fondness the love that he had found in her and begged Aslan for another chance at the life he could have had.”

The boy cleared his throat and slapped his thighs. “Did he get his chance, sir?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Caspian answered, his eyes drifting to the fabric wall of the tent. “And he squandered it.” He yawned and tried to muffle it. The boy shook his head as though emerging from a dream before rising to his feet.

“Sorry, sir,” he said. “I’ll let you get some rest. Do you need any more water before I go?”

“No, Private. But next time you come by, could you bring some paper and an envelope. I’d like to write a letter to my girl.”

The young man nodded, turning away and crossing the space to the door. Before he pushed out he glanced over his shoulder at the man on the cot. “Sir,” he began softly. Caspian’s gaze fell to him. “You’re the young prince in the story, aren’t you?” There was something in the man’s eyes as he nodded slowly. “I haven’t figured out the meaning of it all yet, but I will. I just wanted to say… I don’t think you squandered your chance. You’ll make it back your girl. And if you don’t mind, I’ll let that help me believe that I’ll make it back to mine.” Caspian nodded, feeling for all he was worth that he could not stay awake for much longer. The boy offered a small smile before ducking from the tent. Then the voice came as though on the wind.

 _Test two, completed, my King. To inspire strength in those that did not have it before._ Caspian drifted off to slumber without any further ado.


	9. The Deepest Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a dream, a third test, and Caspian finally gets his paper and pen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a whole lot of fluff... For which I refuse to be sorry.

Jocelyn seemed doubtful when Susan brought the young American girl to her and asked her opinion. But she approved it anyway. Maybe it was the feeling of sisterhood, or maybe it was just exhaustion setting in, but she could not turn away a girl whose man was wounded. So that was how Sara Johns came to be the full time receptionist at the Baker Street Recovery Hospital of London. She did not have any contact with the majority of the patients, she was not certified to handle the gore of a wounded solider, but sometimes she would interact with the young patients. Their little hospital was merely overflow for recovery, which often included children recovering from lacerations from debris left over from raids, or people regaining their strength from influenza. Sara was a light in their dreary existence. Her American accent threw most of the people who came in to visit, but she quickly won them over with her easy smile and her words of hope.

She inspired people and, of course, Susan was not immune. Sara had thanked her that first night for giving her the strength to hope, but every day her steadfast friendship gave Susan her own strength. The dreams did not abate, though she found herself comforted just by seeing him. It helped her to believe he was out there somewhere, that this was Aslan’s way of showing her that.  She was no longer merely surviving. She knew what Miss Renna had been trying to tell her, what Sara was here to show her. She was meant to be living.

At first it began by making sure that Sara saw London the way it should be. Even on nights when she herself was exhausted from worry and sleeplessness she would take the girl out to show her something new. The two elder girls would spend their days off shopping with Lucy, or going to see the films in the square with Peter and Edmund. Susan learned to trust herself about her impulses, something that she had been fighting since before their first fall into Narnia. She became spontaneous, to a degree. She would dance when there was music in the park, throwing her head back and laughing. Each gentleman that smiled at her a welcome reminder that somewhere, somehow Caspian was fighting his way back to London; to her. And she believed that. For the first time in her life she just had faith.

That was when he came to her.

* * *

 

He stood on the plain before the Temple of the Stone Table, his cloak drifting behind him in the wind. He had no idea why he was wearing a cloak, he had not had one in quite some time. It was an old Telemarine tradition, and he had not worn one steadily since becoming a King of Narnia. He reached behind him and grasped at the fabric, pulling it forward to gaze upon it. His lips parted in surprise as he took in the color; white as the clouds on a summer day. He stared. He knew this cape. It was the cape he had been married in. The runes along the bottom were words of blessing, etched in gold. He looked down at his white tunic, embroidered along the edges in the blue of the Narnian sky. He was dressed for a royal wedding. His royal wedding. Then he heard it, a sound so sweet his knees went weak.

“Caspian?” she asked, the voice on the wind was too tangible to be his imagination. It was also close. He turned slowly, breathing evenly to avoid waking himself. As he did he attempted to prepare himself for what he might see. Even his greatest dreams could not have matched the vision that danced before his eyes.

Her chocolate hair was brushed back from her face, cascading in a single braid over her shoulder, tied with blossoms of honeysuckle. Her blue eyes shone with the brilliance of the sun, though he could see a tinge of redness as she tried to withhold the tears. Her skin was still the color of cool milk, but she had a few more freckles than before. She stood tall in the grasses of the field, a willow amidst the wildflowers. And her gown. She wore a gown of snow white silk, embroidered at the edges with the same Narnian blue. At the ends of her bell sleeves were the same golden runes. A Narnian wedding gown befitting a queen.

“Susan,” he whispered, feeling his tongue roll around the word like Deep Magic. “You look stunning.”

She glanced down at her gown and quirked a smile at him. “This old thing?” she asked playfully. “I’d say thank you, but I can’t take the credit for it.”

It occurred to him that this was the longest they had spoken in a dream and that scared him. Something was at work here, a Deep Magic he did not understand. Knowing that it could possibly break the spell, but having to find the answer, he opened his lips to ask the question that burned in his mind. She took a step forward, her hand reaching out to him. They were still three paces from touching, but he felt it; an electric current thrumming around them. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t ask the question. It could undo everything.”

He closed the distance without warning, as though attempting to thwart the very magic that brought them here; daring it to separate them now. His hands were on her waist, warm and hard and possessive as he pulled her bodily against him. The look in his eyes as she stared up at him was triumphant. He had done it, he had covered the distance and taken her in his arms, something he had been unable to do for the longest time. “This is real, isn’t it?” he whispered, blatantly doing what she had requested that he not.

Instead of being angry with him she could not help but smile as she pushed herself up on her tiptoes, her fingers trembling on the white of his tunic, and brushed her lips against his. The softness was nearly his undoing as he wrapped his arms more tightly around her and pulled her up against his lips. They meshed as they kissed, the emotions running high and feeding the power that pulsed around them, filling the field with the crackle of it. When she finally broke away it left them both breathless, chests heaving against each other.

 “It has to be,” she whispered in return. His gaze was quizzical. “Can’t you feel it?” Now her gaze dropped to the emptiness around them, searching for the cause of the current. He followed suit. “Deep Magic,” she continued. “It’s real, completely. We’re both here. Brought together by Aslan himself to show us that whatever we’re doing, however we’re fighting our way through life, it’s worth it. It’s our reward.”

“Reward?” he whispered, dipping his head to rest his lips on the crown of her head, burying her face in her hair. He inhaled, committing the scent of her to memory.

“For having faith despite it all.”

“I will make it home to you, Susan. I swear it,” he murmured into her hair. She nodded against him. “And this,” he added, rubbing the white silk of her bridal gown between his fingers, “will become a reality from which neither of us will ever fear to wake.”

“I shall never doubt again.”

“There will never be a need.”

The thrumming was fading, the current escaping the field. She felt her iron grip on the dream slipping from her. “It’s time,” she whispered into this tunic, tears sparking in her eyes. “I have to go.”

“Not yet,” he answered, his arms tightening. She was growing more insubstantial as he fought to hold on to the magic around them.

She tilted her head up to meet his gaze and she smiled, lighting his blood ablaze with hope. “We’ll be together again soon,” she whispered, a single tear slipping down her cheek. He felt his own eyes begin to sting as the color around them started to fade. “Oh, and one more thing. Mr. Barker is doing fine, my love. He has found his Sara and she’s in London. When you get back I’d love for you to meet her. She’s heard a lot about you. And Mr. Barker asks after you every day. We all hope to hear from you soon.” She quirked that adorable smile at him one last time as she began to disappear. Her final words were filled with love and a hint of teasing. “So send me a letter already!”

* * *

 

He snapped awake, his eyes burning from unshed tears. It had been days since his surgery and every time he asked for paper and pen he was thwarted by sleep medicine to rest or some soldier looking for a story to entertain them. His leg was heeling but the doctor had said he should not move about too much or else he would open the stitches and then what a mess it would be. He sat bolt upright in bed, startling the young man that was refreshing the water basin in the recovery tent. He was no longer the only soldier on a cot in the small room, though the other two were sleeping at the time.

“You there,” Caspian whispered, careful not to rouse the other men. “A favor?”

“Yes, sir!” the boy saluted and Caspian fought the need to roll his eyes.

“I’m freshly awoken, I need no more rest. I need no water. I need no food. What I do need is paper and pen immediately. I have a girl that believes me missing and I must send her word that I am not. Will you fetch it for me?”

“Of course, sir,” the boy answered, obviously confused by the monologue. “You need only ask. I’ll be back in just a moment.” Caspian sighed as the boy vanished, finally able to roll his eyes. Not just at the title, but also at the words. He had been asking for near on a week now.

When he returned the boy had within his grasp what Caspian considered the Holy Grail, two sheets of fine linen paper and a pen with which to write. He produced it with trembling hands. It was then that Caspian’s gaze shifted from the articles in the boy’s hands to the look on his face. He was pale and drawn, his eyes round as saucers. “Whatever has happened, son?” Caspian asked, instantly reaching to lead the boy to the seat beside his cot.

“I went to see the doctor to get you fresh paper,” he began. “But he was in surgery on a young man injured in a raid two nights ago. They only just got back, you see.” As he spoke his features seemed to become paler, a haunted look settled into his eyes. “I was curious, since my brother was on the team. I asked who the soldier was.” Caspian felt the chill begin to settle over his heart and he set the paper and pen aside as he swung his sore leg from the cot and took the young man’s hands in his own. “It wasn’t my brother, Lance Corporal,” the boy whispered. Caspian almost let out a sigh of relief, but the boy’s next words stopped him cold. “Because my brother was left in the woods where the sniper shot him down.”

All the breath left Caspian in a whoosh. A brother lost on the battlefield was always a tragedy, not only for the man but for the men left behind to worry after a loved one’s soul. He spoke the first words that came to his mind. “Dying is only the first step of a journey, Private,” he began. “I can promise you that the path that he has taken will ensure him a place in paradise. I know the heart of the creature that watches over us and he is kind and caring. He will not force your brother to travel alone. He will provide him with companions to guide him, to care for him. No one enters the kingdom without love to surround them. I promise you that.”

“How can you know?” the young man asked, his brown eyes pleading.

“Let me tell you a story of a lion, a lion so brave that he gave his own life for that of a traitor, so that the traitor may live to right his wrongs. I will tell you a story of how that young man overcame his cowardice and became a King of Narnia.” As Caspian began his tale, his pen and paper drifted discarded to the floor. He did not hear the words drift toward him on the wind.

_Test three is complete: Placing someone else above yourself is a trait of a true believer._

* * *

 

Night had fallen and the boy had left. Caspian sat up in his bunk, his only companion a circle of light from his lamp. The soldier closest to him was reading a well-worn novel about pirates of the seven seas while the man furthest from him was humming a wordless tune that Caspian vaguely recognized. He had been staring at his blank page for the last twenty minutes. It was not that he did not have things to say, he did. It was that writing them seemed silly. She had been in his arms only hours ago. She knew he was alive. But he understood her request. She could not tell people he was alive based only on a dream. Her siblings would probably believe her, but her parents, her friends; they would think her mad. Losing her mind like that of a war widow. It pained him to think those words. _War widow._ Seeing her in that bridal gown had all but undone him. If he did not get out of here and back to her safely, that would never become a reality.

The fabric of the door pushed back, shattering his thoughts. He still had not written a word. The doctor appeared, his hair well combed even though he was beginning to look more haggard than before. Each day that passed aged him, each soldier that died stole a little piece of the man’s soul to escort him to Aslan’s Country. But tonight he eyes were a little brighter through the sadness.

“Lance Corporal Tennyson,” the doctor said, drawing the attention of all three men in the tent. “This has come for you on the heels of my final check-up.” He handed the young man a sealed envelope with the crest of the Royal Army on it. “It has been a pleasure, sir.”

Wide-eyed with uncertainty and a single spark of hope, Caspian tore open the letter and unfolded the paper within. Single phrases jumped at him. _Fully recovered from infection and injury. Leg functional for daily use. Cannot recommend return to active duty. Honorably discharged. Return to London for debriefing. Service award pending._ His head jerked up as he stared openly at the doctor before him. “What does this mean?”

“You’re going home, son. To London.” The doctor saluted, though he did not have to, a spark of something inspired twinkling in his eye, before leaving Caspian alone in the tent with the two men staring at the letter as though it were made of gold.

As the meaning of what had happened settled in, Caspian reached for the blank paper and wrote the only words he could think of.

_Dearest, loveliest, most beautiful Susan,_

_By the time you read this, I may be home at your side. And I intend to never leave that place again. If I am not arrived yet, then have no fear. I am on my way to you._

_All my love,_

_Caspian X_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what else I'm not sorry for? Blatant "Princess Bride" quotes. Because they are always necessary. Always.


	10. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a letter and a delivery.

Rain fell in sheets outside the windows as Susan descended the stairs from the third floor of the hospital to the lobby area. Sara sat behind the reception desk, a book in her hands. She glanced up as her friend took the final step onto the black and white tile floor and offered a warm smile. “Ready for lunch?” she asked as Susan approached. “I brought us roast beef sandwiches today, and fresh apples.”

“Apples?” Susan squeaked. “Wherever did you find apples?”

“A lady in the park sold me two for a sixpence. She said they traveled a long way and that she was waiting for the perfect person to give them to.” Susan tilted her head in askance. “She didn’t say much more than that, just that I seemed right. I couldn’t pass it up, of course.” Sara squinted in thought before adding, “Actually, come to think of it. She was familiar. I think you spoke with her the first night I came here, in the park. You went over to her.”

“Miss Renna?” Susan questioned, leaning on the desk. Sara nodded. “Well then, those apples are bound to bring us a little bit of magic, because she’s someone very special.” She glanced around. “Where is every one?”

“Jocelyn is upstairs with a patient, Anna is in the kitchen making soup for the lads and Rebecca is fetching more oil from the basement.”

“What about Marilyn?”

“Gone for a walk.”

Something about the way it was said caused Susan to arch an eyebrow. “In this weather?”

Sara sighed, lifting her eyes to avoid Susan’s gaze. “All right, George came by and she didn’t want to sadden you with the reminder of…” she trailed off, leaving the name unspoken.

Hiding a smirk, Susan nodded solemnly. “That’s very kind of her,” she acknowledged. “I will thank her when she returns.” Without adding anything else, she moved from the desk toward the kitchen to begin setting out her and Sara’s lunches. Sara followed like a shadow, curious about the response.

The two young women spread out their meals while Anna continued to stir the soup on the fire. Finally when they were seated, Sara could stand it no more. “Sue,” she began. “You’ve been different recently. There’s something brighter about you.”

Susan shrugged as she unwrapped her sandwich. “I just have a feeling,” she answered, finally.

“A feeling?” Even Anna had stopped stirring to listen. “What kind of feeling?”

“That something is about to change.”

Sara squinted at her as though trying to see through her forehead to her thoughts. “Do you know something, Sue? Something about him?”

Blue eyes locked onto her and there was a sparkle that warmed her heart. “I just feel it. Like the end of a long storm is rolling toward us. Blue skies are approaching, and it’s about time too.” Anna went back to stirring and Sara bit into her sandwich, both girls thinking that maybe Susan needed a break. They had no idea how right she was.

* * *

 

It was pouring, but Lucy could not wait for the rain to stop. She donned her wellingtons and her raincoat before grabbing her umbrella and slamming her way out the door. The streets were soaked with rain and empty as she sprinted down the sidewalk. By the time she reached the Underground her umbrella was completely worthless. Her braids were soaked and she had splashed water into her wellingtons, saturating her shoes. She gripped the railing as she descended, careful to watch her step. She waited impatiently at the rails, tapping her feet and drumming her fingers on the edge of her raincoat.

The train pulled into the station and she practically pounced onto it, causing a group of young women to smile at her excitement. “Heading into City Centre?” one of them asked knowingly.

“No,” Lucy replied. “I’m going to see my sister at Baker Street. She’s had a letter.” The women exchanged glances, realization dawning on their features.

A fleeting sadness passed over one of their faces and the other two instinctively reached to pat her shoulders. When the girl spoke it was softly. “I hope it is good news.”

Lucy felt her heart constrict and she stepped nearer to the young women. “I know how hard it is to lose someone, miss,” she began, reaching out to take her hand. “But always trust that even though they are gone from here they are never gone from you.”

There were tears in her eyes as she looked down at the sweet twelve year old girl before her, a girl that seemed wise beyond her years, and said, “How can you know that?”

“I had a very dear friend, a very long time ago. He saved me once. We spent a long while together, it felt like years at times. Almost a lifetime, really. But I had to leave him without saying goodbye. When I returned he was gone and I could never tell him how I loved him.” Lucy took a deep breath, forcing herself to continue. “He’s gone, yes, but never forgotten. And I know that he never forgot about me either. One day we’ll be together again, and I will able to tell him all about my travels and adventures, and he will tell me his.” She patted the young woman’s hand and offered a small smile as she continued, “I’m sure this will be the same with your lost loved one.”

“Who are you?” the woman asked, gaping at the girl.

“No one of consequence,” Lucy replied as the train ground to a stop. She turned away and vanished from the train, feeling the air crackle with enough magic to buoy her spirits as she hit the stairs and heard the drumming of the rain against the stone steps above her. She hit the street running again, dodging people walking at a slower pace. She yelled apologies over her shoulder at passersby, trying to avoid splashing them with puddles as her wellingtons slapped the pavement.

Lucy reached the stone stoop of the hospital and forced herself to slow to a respectable pace before pushing the door open. Sara sat at the desk in the lobby and closed her book even as the door opened. “Hello,” she greeted, lifting her eyes from the page. “Oh, Lucy!” She startled upon seeing the girl, wet and bedraggled, splashed with water and mud from the streets of London. “Whatever have you done to yourself? Susan will be cross when she-” Realization dawned like a blazing fire. “What have you got?” she demanded.

The young girl reached into her raincoat and withdrew a letter from the inner pocket. It was damp around the edges, but no worse for the wear. “This came today! It’s his handwriting!”

The elder girl bolted from her chair, grasping Lucy’s hands and pulling her toward the stairs. The two of them stomped up the steps, not caring about the noise they made. Each nurse appeared in turn, first Jocelyn, looking upset. Her face softened when she recognized Lucy, then brightened at the letter gripped in her fingers. Then Anna and Rebecca emerged, Bridget and Abigail were next. Last was Susan, on the top floor. Her auburn hair appeared over the railing and she gasped at the sight of her sister waving the letter triumphantly. Without warning, she bolted, heels clacking on the threadbare steps.

The three of them met on the second landing, Susan’s fingers scrambling for the letter. She tore it open just as a hush fell over the building; every breath held for what the letter contained. It was then that she heard it, the creak of the door opening below. Her gaze could not be torn from the words on the page, her heart soaring over the skyline of London.

“Susan?” All of the air left her lungs, as though she had been hit with an arrow in the heart. His voice. So close. She lifted her eyes from the page and saw Lucy’s eyes focused on the lobby, she was all but glowing. “Susan?” he asked again and she tore her gaze from her sister to direct it downward.

There he stood in his brown worsted wool uniform, a cane gripped tightly in one hand. His hat was off and tucked under his arm and his brown hair was shorter than in her dream. “Caspian,” she whispered, her hand fluttering to her lips, the forgotten letter slipping to the floor. “I just got your letter.”

He smiled at her, a bright, beaming smile, as he answered. “Impeccable timing, if I do say so myself.” She found that she could not reply because she was barreling down the stairs toward him, ignoring the sobs from the girls above her as they watched the love story unfold. None of these women had met him, none of them had seen pictures of him, but they knew him on sight.

Her feet hit the tile of the lobby and she fell into his waiting arms, the sob that had been expanding in her chest finally breaking open as he pulled her against him. He swept her into a deep kiss, a kiss reserved for darkened rooms and the plains of Narnia. Neither of the heeded their audience, too wrapped in each other’s arms to care. She leaned herself against him, hands flat on his chest. She felt the shift in weight when his cane clattered to the ground and both arms came around her. He pulled her up as he did in the dream, pressing his lips to hers and wrapping his hand in her hair to deepen the kiss.

When they finally broke away they both felt it, the crackle of Deep Magic. “You’re back,” she whispered, bringing her hands up to cup his face. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

He did not reply, though the smile on his face widened. His cane was discarded on the floor as he pulled away. His leg ached from his travels, from hiking through the city, from climbing the stairs from the Underground. It ached from standing here, holding her. But he had to. And he knew that what he was about to do next was going to hurt him more than anything he had done so far today. But he had to.

He let go of her, keeping her hand in his, and dropped to one knee with a grimace before wiping his face clean. “Caspian?” she whispered, her free hand rising to her lips. “What are you doing?”

“I didn’t do this right the first time,” he began, reaching into his pocket. She froze. “Susan Pevensie, you have been the light in my life for longer than I can express. You blazed your way into my world, my life, with such ferocity that you left no room for anyone else. Even when you had to leave me, you never left me. You were there through it all. And when I was given the chance to return to you there was no hesitation. You are my destiny, Susan. Everything I have ever wanted. My Queen.” He produced a small box of velvet, a luxury in the war surely. Not nearly as much of a luxury as what the box contained. “Marry me.”

She fell to her knees in front of him, cupping her hands around his face and holding him steady. His leg must have been killing him. “There is no way I can decline. Your happiness is directly tied to mine,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him tenderly.

“Is that a yes?” he questioned, a teasing smirk in place.

“Yes, you fool. Now let me help you up. You’re injured.”

“Put it on first. I want to see it on you.” She smiled as she reached her hand out. His was trembling the same as hers as he slipped the ring on her finger. It glittered and glimmered in the light as she gripped his hand and rose to her feet to pull him from the ground with surprising strength. She bent to get his cane and found Lucy’s shoes waiting beside them, his cane gripped in her hands. “Lucy,” he greeted, a beaming smile on his face. “Thank you.”

“Caspian,” she whispered, flinging her arms around him in an impromptu embrace. “I’m so glad you’re back! We’ve all been so worried.” He held her close, smiling over her head at Susan. Susan reached out and brushed her hand down her sister’s back. “Right,” she said, stepping back. “I should go tell Mother. She’ll want to make a special dinner.” When Lucy turned away, there were tears in her eyes.

As she stepped away the girls flooded them. Jocelyn was beside Susan, offering a chair for Caspian to sink into. “Water?” she questioned. “Tea, perhaps?”

“Tea would be lovely,” Caspian offered with a smile. Jocelyn nodded and turned toward the kitchen, not before embracing Susan tightly in congratulations. The other girls flocked around them, each exclaiming over Susan’s engagement ring. The one in the back was quiet, watching with tear filled eyes.

Finally Susan reached over and pulled her closer. “Caspian,” she said, reaching for his hand. “This is Sara Johns, Mr. Barker’s fiancée.”

“Miss Johns,” he greeted, pushing himself up. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” He offered his hand and shook hers. “How is Ton doing? He was the last thing I saw on the beach. I have heard of his injuries.”

“He is thriving, Mr. Tennyson, thank you,” Sara said, tears sparkling at the edges of her powder blue eyes. “I should go and tell him of your arrival, he will be most pleased that you have made it home to Susan.”

His own eyes drifted over Susan’s shining face and he could not help but smile at her, glad to see her happiness overflowing. “I’d like very much to see him and tell him myself. Would that be permitted?”

“Of course,” Jocelyn said from where she had appeared at the edge of the group. She grasped in her hands a tray with the well-worn old tea set perched upon it. Handing it to Susan she stepped aside, allowing the three of them to approach the stairs. The climbed steadily, Caspian using his cane to balance, his other hand on the balustrade. They reached room two-oh-four and Sara turned the knob, greeting the man in the bed with a smile.

“Hello, my love,” she said softly as she stepped aside to let Susan enter. “We have a bit of a surprise for you.” Ton’s eyes brightened as the two women approached, then he heard the clomp of the cane on the floor outside. When Caspian rounded the corner Ton’s eyes lit brightly. “Looks as though Mr. Tennyson has found his way to tea.”

“Caspian!” Ton gasped, reaching out a hand. Caspian hobbled over and sank into the chair left vacant at the bedside. “It’s good to see you, man! Welcome back!”

“It’s good to see you too, Ton!” Caspian exclaimed, raking over the man’s face with bright eyes. “You look well!”

Ton sobered, his eyes falling to the flat sheets at the end of the bed. When he spoke his tone was wounded. “I look well enough, considering.”

Then Caspian showed the true measure of a man. He took Ton’s hand in his and leaned forward to look him directly in the eye. “Ton,” he whispered, “A man is not his legs or his arms or his hair or his voice. A man is his heart. He is there in the way that he loves, and loves deeply. I saw you take this hit. I saw what you did when it seemed all hope was lost. I saw you pry that picture of Sara from the pocket of your jacket and stare at it. I saw you say good-bye.” Ton’s eyes were wet with unshed tears. “I saw the strength you had in your love. That’s what a man is. And your strength was enough to bring you back to her. That’s all the matters in the end, both to you and to her.” He lifted his eyes to where Sara stood, tears spilling down her cheeks. “She’s here, Ton. She loves you.” Susan’s hand fell to Caspian’s shoulder, warming him. “And believe me, when all is said and done, that’s all that matters.”

Ton reached out with a trembling hand and found Sara right beside him. She sank onto the bed and buried her face in his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight, pressing a kiss into her hair. He lifted his head to meet Caspian’s eyes. _Thank you_ , he mouthed. Caspian nodded, reaching up to brush his hand against Susan’s. The four of them sat in silence for a long time, taking the opportunity to drift away from the pain and heartache of the past. And drift away they did, to the promises of the future.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for an epilogue of sorts. Part 3 of the Narnian Warriors of London, coming soon.


End file.
